Crazy is My Line of Work
by fmapreshwab
Summary: When couples start turning up dead in Santa Barbara, it's up to Shawn Spencer to set things right. Well, it's not really up to him at all, but it will be if he has anything to say about it. Slash, eventual Shassie, rated for language and safety.
1. It Started With a Case

A/N: This is my first attempt at a real Psych story. I really don't know where this came from, but I kind of love it. The first chapter's a little rocky, but stick around and I guarantee you'll be glad for it.

I don't own the characters, just the plot.

* * *

><p>"He doesn't trust me; he never listens; he's violent, antagonistic, combative…."<p>

Carlton Lassiter clenched his jaw, trying to figure out how, exactly, he'd gotten himself into this mess. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to make eye contact with either the judgmental doctor or the man seated next to him on the couch.

"Lassie, you're not even listening right now, are you?"

He knew it had started with a case.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, Gus, just go with it."<p>

"Shawn, the last time you said that, I ended up in a goat corral covered in butter."

"I can almost guarantee that won't happen again."

The two walked into the Santa Barbara police station together, Gus giving Shawn one of the glares he could only muster when he knew Shawn wasn't looking, Shawn pretending he didn't see the constipated look Gus was giving him. It had been a slow day at the office, and Shawn was bored.

He had read in the paper today that the police had a new case, something about a married couple being murdered. The details of the article had been scarce, but Shawn was almost sure he'd find something vision-worthy in the file on Lassiter's desk. As he turned off to go hunting, he let Gus continue down the hall without him, saying something about lactose intolerance.

After spending about a minute spinning in Lassiter's desk chair, he opened the file and scanned through it for anything he could use. It was thicker than he had thought, containing details on four separate couples. _Crime scene descriptions, coroner's reports, victim files…. Wait a minute…._ Buzz seemed to come out of nowhere as he watched Shawn flipping through the file. "Shawn? I don't think Detective Lassiter likes other people sitting in his desk chair."

"Buzz! Hey buddy! I was just going through this file Lassie gave me. He wanted me up on the details of our new case."

"Detective Lassiter brought you in on the Couple Killer case?"

"Oh my god. Who came up with that name? It's terrible!"

"Detective Lassiter did."

"Right, well, anyway, of course I'm on the case. Come on, Buzz, it's not like he would just leave the file out in the open, right?"

Buzz frowned. "I guess not."

"And who has solved every case he's ever been given?"

"Well, you have, but—."

"But what, Buzz?"

"Why would Detective Lassiter call you in on this? He doesn't really seem to like having you around."

"Buzz, come on, a smart guy like you must know that that's just an act, right? Being all grouchy and screamy like that is how Lassie let's people know he cares!"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, he must really like _you_, then."

"If he didn't, why would I constantly be working with him? He's the head detective, Buzz. If he doesn't want my help, he doesn't have to work cases with me."

McNabb nodded, smiling the smile that told Shawn he had won. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, it'd be pretty weird for him to keep agreeing to work with you if he really hated you as much as he's always saying."

Shawn nodded, thinking on the truth of the man's words. "Well, I'm late for a meeting with the chief!"

"I thought she was meeting with Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara."

"About our new case, Buzz. They can't have this meeting without me!" He pushed the file into Buzz's arms. "Do something with this for me, will you?"

Shawn walked a little way down the hall, stopping short of the open door to Chief Vick's office, waiting for his cue. He wasn't waiting long. "…that chucklehead Spencer and his dopey sidekick!"

Shawn rounded the corner a beat later, his eyes closed and his hands up to his temples. "I see a case!"

The chief sighed in that long suffering way she had. "Mr. Spencer—."

Shawn held up a hand, silencing the chief's objections. For the moment. He opened his eyes and began to speak in a loud, childlike voice. "Two by two, hands of…agh! Ring around the rosie," Shawn sang, skipping through the back of the chief's office. "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." He threw himself against the floor and continued to scream.

Gus entered the room as Shawn rolled back and forth across the floor. "There you are, Shawn! I was talking to you for like, five minutes, before I realized you weren't following me anymore."

"I'm seeing couples, married couples, being killed at the same time and found in separate locations." Shawn was lying on his back, staring up into the cold eyes of Carlton Lassiter.

"Spencer, get off the floor!"

Shawn could barely hear the chief talking with O'Hara on the other side of the room about how the locations had never been made public, and that there was no reason for Shawn to know that the couples hadn't been found together, or that any of the murders had been related. _Time to bring it home._ Shawn rolled over onto his stomach, throwing himself back into a standing position. "There's something else, something strong. I need a doctor," Shawn intoned in his very best 30s gangster voice. Falling to his knees, he reached out a hand and shouted, "Run, Forrest, run!" Shawn collapsed once more onto the floor, panting wildly as Gus moved to help him up.

Shawn waited a moment to see who would take the bait. Juliet snapped her fingers. "There was a Dr. Forest listed in one of the victim files."

"Which one?" Vick snapped.

Juliet shook her head for a moment, until the memory returned. "The Hunter file."

"You mean the Gibsons," Lassiter corrected, looking over at her from his position across the room.

She shook her head. "No, it was in the Hunter file, I'm positive."

"This could be the connection we've been looking for," Vick said, something approaching a smile playing across her face. "Mr. Spencer, good work. Consider yourself on the case. Lassiter, read them in."

The head detective practically growled at the pair, but said nothing. Shawn and Gus exchanged looks of triumph. Even if he didn't quite know what was going on, which was nothing all that new, Gus knew when to take the win. They followed Lassiter out into the hallway.

When they finally caught up with the tall detective, he was already speaking. "…couples found murdered on opposite sides of the city. Coroner's report said the couples died at approximately the same time, though no one has been able to tell exactly. So far we've found four couples over the course of the last month: the Hunters, the Gibsons, the Fords and the Richardsons."

"Please tell me Keith is okay!"

Lassiter rounded on them. "This isn't a game, Spencer. This is a case."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Shawn said, patting Lassiter somewhere between the shoulder and the chest. "Murder, mayhem, the whole nine yards, got it." Lassiter growled deep in his throat, and Shawn saw his hand drifting toward the gun on his belt. "Come on, Lassie, it's still early! You can't shoot me yet." Shawn smiled wide and patted Lassiter on the back. "Let's go check out that Dr. Forest!"

"No." Lassiter stood stubbornly in the middle of the hall until Shawn and Gus returned to him.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Gus asked in bewilderment.

"I mean no, we're not going anywhere. O'Hara will check out the doctor. You two clowns are staying where I can see you while I check the files of every victim for any reference to this Dr. Forest of yours."

"And why do we need to be here for that?" Gus asked.

Lassiter smiled his most unsettling smile for them, his eyes narrowing. "I want you close by for when this cockamamie story of yours doesn't pan out, so I can tell you personally to take a hike."

"You know your problem, Lassie?" Shawn ignored the glare. "Trust issues," he informed the older man, nodding. "That, and you could really stand to loosen up." Lassiter jumped as Shawn reached up to grab his shoulders.

"Park it," Lassiter told them forcefully, pointing to the bench in the admission area. He walked over to the desk guard on duty. "If they move, shoot them." The detective stalked back to his desk across the building.

Shawn tried and failed not to laugh when Lassie started yelling about who, exactly, in the hell had been messing with the files on his desk. He hoped Buzz would at least get a head start.

* * *

><p>Like I said, bear with me. It'll get fun.<p>

Any feedback is greatly appreciated, especially in these early stages while I try to get everything locked down.


	2. Mr Gunderson and the Big Bad Detective

A/N: Okay, to make up for the last chapter, this one is a little longer, and we get to get into more of the fun bits. I own nothing (the characters belong to Steve Franks, and I'm pretty sure the entire concept of Santa Barbara now belongs to the USA network), please don't sue me.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Shawn and Gus were still sitting under the watchful eye of the desk sergeant, who clearly took his job too seriously. They were stuck on the bench, Gus had had to pee for over an hour, and, worst of all, Shawn was starting to get bored again.<p>

At first, Shawn had thought it was funny when the desk jockey had grabbed his side arm from a filing cabinet drawer and set it on his desk. Then, when Shawn had eventually gotten up to go bother his very favorite Irish detective, the sergeant had looked up with warning in his eyes. As Shawn made to walk away, the man had cocked the gun, aiming it at Shawn's knee without a word.

Shawn had thought during the entire first hour that any time now, Lassiter would round the corner with that sick grin of his and admit his joke. During the second hour, Shawn waited for Lassiter to admit that the doctor's name had been found in all the files, and that maybe, _just maybe_, Shawn had found something that he and all the other investigators had missed. But Lassie just kept him waiting.

It wasn't until Juliet bounced through the front door that the man behind the desk was finally convinced to let them go unharmed. Apparently, Jules had found something. And as Shawn followed his newfound savior to Lassie's desk, Gus raced off in the opposite direction, making sounds Shawn hadn't heard since first grade.

"Carlton," Juliet began, her cute little "mad" face well in place, "did you tell Simmons to shoot Shawn and Gus if they tried to leave reception?"

Lassie grinned into his computer monitor, typing and chuckling just a little. "I forgot about that. No wonder it's been so quiet."

It was at this point that Gus would have made a quip about billing Lassie's health insurance for his kidney damage, but Shawn was still on his own, and, try as he might, he couldn't make his mouth form the words. He just ended up grinning at Lassie like an idiot.

After a few more rapid keystrokes, Lassiter looked up, all business. "What did you find, O'Hara?"

Jules smiled. "Well, it turns out Regina Forest is a psychiatrist, specializing in marriage counseling. Every one of our dead couples had been seeing her for a couple of weeks before they were found."

Lassiter's eyes narrowed, and Shawn could see in his determined stare that Lassie wouldn't be getting any pats on the back any time soon. In fact, if it were up to Lassie, he wouldn't be acknowledged for the rest of the case. But it wasn't up to Lassie, was it?

Shawn grabbed his temple and flailed like a man he had seen having a seizure on television once. He couldn't keep it up for long, and after a moment he collapsed into the nearest chair. A chair which just so happened to already have an occupant, one tall Irish cop. Shawn looked at Lassie, their faces separated by mere inches. "The spirits have a plan, Lassie, but they're telling me you're not going to like it."

* * *

><p>"Chief, our best shot at catching this sick, sick bastard is an undercover operation."<p>

Chief Vick nodded. "I completely agree, Mr. Spencer."

Shawn stomped his foot like a dejected child. "But Chieeeeeef…."

Gus glared at his friend. "She said yes, Shawn."

"Oh." Shawn looked from Vick to Gus and back. "I guess I wasn't…I mean…we never get to have any fun when you call me "Mr. Spencer" like that."

"Mr. Spencer, this isn't a game, this is a serious operation, one that I'd like you to be a part of."

"Really?" Shawn looked back as he and Lassiter's voices echoed together in the small office.

Vick's eyebrow rose. "This operation is going to take the highest level of detective we have on the case, and you _were_ the one who led us to the doctor in the first place. It seems newer couples are being targeted, which we can readily accommodate. This is going to be our best shot to bring whoever has been attacking these couples to justice. So it seems we just need to find you a wife, Mr. Spencer." She said this last with a grin and a glance toward Juliet.

Clearly she didn't see the problem there. "I agree completely, Chief. Just one problem."

The chief's eyes narrowed, and she was clearly displeased. "What's that?"

O'Hara hung her head, sighing. "I interviewed the doctor regarding the victims earlier today."

Shawn cleared his throat slightly, sparing a quick glance at the two detectives standing at the back of the room. He almost didn't want to turn to face the chief, because that meant missing the moment when Lassie's face turned from its usual, disconcerting, beetish red to that rare, disturbing, grape-like purple. "Chief, the spirits would like to make a recommendation."

Shawn could already hear the low growl.

* * *

><p>Carlton and Shawn entered and assessed the office of Dr. Forest, one with a wary eye, the other with an air of giddiness. The woman seated on the opposite end of the room appeared to be in her mid-thirties, although it was difficult to tell with her back to them. Taking the moment of unsupervised access to his advantage, Shawn looked down at the woman's desk, trying to absorb all he could.<p>

She was married, but she didn't like to advertise the fact, probably out of respect for her patients. She kept her ring in her desk drawer, he saw as she slid it closed, and in the only picture of the man on her desk, he had his arm slung over her like he could be her brother. But she had no brother, he could tell from the family portrait sitting next to it, only two sisters. An old family portrait, probably because she hadn't been invited to any of the new ones. Somebody wasn't getting along with the family. But the scenery in the photo told a different story. Shawn grinned as he filed the information away for later use.

The woman smiled warmly as she spun around in her chair, the kind look of welcome only catching for a moment on the fact that two men stood before her. "Are you the Lassiters?" she asked, her voice faltering just slightly.

"I'm Carlton Lassiter," the detective responded, stepping forward to shake the woman's hand cordially as she stood from her chair. He looked back at Shawn, the annoyance clear in his eyes. _Why my name?_ the look asked.

Shawn narrowed his eyes and smiled slyly, his own look a _Why not?_ in response. "Anton Gunderson," Shawn said, grabbing the woman's hand firmly. Lassiter glared once more at the shorter man who seemed so oblivious to his anger.

"Well," she said, composure fully regained, "why don't you gentlemen come and have a seat?" She gestured to a couch across the room. "We can get started whenever you're ready."

"And how exactly does one get started with…something like this?" Shawn asked, smiling unduly given the situation as he settled easily onto the couch.

Lassiter grumbled under his breath as he eased down into the small space left between Shawn and the arm of the couch. He thought he was doing well enough, and he didn't even start grinding his teeth until Shawn slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Well, typically I like to learn a little bit about the couple before we get started, but first I'd like for us to talk about what your expectations for counseling are. Where you think the weaknesses are in your relationship, what sort of goals you'd like to set for strengthening them, things like that."

Shawn blew the air out of his lungs through his nose, raising his eyebrows. "We only have the room for an hour, doc."

"Well, Mr. Gunderson, where would you like to begin?"

"I love my little Lassie, but he doesn't trust me; he never listens; he's violent, antagonistic, combative…."

That had been it. Somehow, this had all started so reasonably. There had been a plan, there had been backup and intel. Now here he sat, in a couple's therapy session with Spencer, trying not to grind his teeth.

"Lassie, you're not even listening right now, are you?"

Lassiter glared up at the younger man, ready to snap, not that it affected Shawn in any way. "I'm all ears, Shawn."

The woman looked up from the large pad on which she'd been scribbling her notes. "Now, Lassie I understand. Where does the pet name Shawn come from? Middle name?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, then a thought occurred to him. "No, it's his name. Shawn Spencer. And I'd like to start by asking why he never uses his real name. Or mine, for that matter."

Shawn looked over at Lassiter with a grin, guessing at his game. "Lassie, do you happen to remember what happened the last time I gave someone my real name?"

Lassiter thought for a moment, several examples of what a terrible idea it really was springing to mind almost immediately. "Was it the time that jealous boyfriend gave you a concussion in that parking structure?" Lassiter had actually enjoyed teaching Shawn how to file an assault charge.

"No, that one was actually Gus's fault."

"Oh, that time the serial killer had you trapped in that boat house!" Dr. Forest looked up sharply from her note pad, concern and disbelief warring for dominance across her face.

"Also Gus. Man, I have got to stop letting that guy talk." Shawn shook his head, a bemused look crossing his face.

"Ummm…."

The smile that crept across Shawn's face was mischievous and promised all the wrong kind of fun. "I'll give you a hint, Lassie. It was about five years ago, and I never did it again."

"Five year…oh."

"Oh, now he's got it folks! The last time I introduced myself by my real name," Shawn said, turning back to the woman staring between the two of them, "he _tried to arrest me_!"

Lassiter smiled, chuckling softly. "That's actually how we met."

The woman _hmm_ed in polite interest. "So you're a policeman?"

"Head detective, Santa Barbara PD," Lassiter informed her with his usual air of self-importance.

The woman nodded, looking down at the notepad on which Shawn could just see her playing tic tac toe. "It must be difficult for you, a gay man in your position."

"I'm not gay," Lassiter responded heatedly. He seemed to realize his mistake as her brow furrowed in confusion. "Let's get one thing straight," he said quickly, trying to cover. "I don't like men; I like Shawn."

"Aw, Lassieface, I'm not sure if that's really flattering or really insulting. But, I'm going to be the bigger man here and take the compliment."

Lassiter glared over at the younger man. "Shawn, we've talked about this. Taking everything as a compliment does not make you the bigger man, it makes you a narcissist."

Spencer threw his hands up defensively. "Hey, narcissists are just friends you haven't met yet."

Lassiter could practically feel his blood pressure rising. "That's strangers."

"I've heard it both ways."

The doctor took this opportunity to interrupt before the two engaged in a full-blown argument. "And Shawn, what do you do?"

"Watch TV mostly, though I'm not above playing video games and eating potato chips all day. I've also been known to lick things." Shawn nodded introspectively.

She looked skeptical. "And that's how you make your living?"

Spencer's face crumpled in on itself. "What? Oh, no, I'm a psychic."

Lassiter sighed, trying not to interrupt. "You're…a psychic," the doctor repeated, no small amount of disbelief coating her words.

Shawn smiled. "Yeah. I work with the police to solve crimes using the gifts of the spirit world." He pulled his hand up to his temple, closing his eyes. "I sense your skepticism." The doctor smiled, but avoided the laugh Lassiter could see in her eye. "But really, how else would I know that you moved across country, away from your family no less, to follow your husband's career out here? And you guys were so close, too. I'm sensing it must be hard for you, but you love your husband so much. You haven't gotten around to bringing it up with him yet, but you want to start your own family out here, one that will be just as close as the one you had to leave behind."

The doctor stared at him, mouth agape. Her right hand moved as though on its own to her left ring finger, presumably checking to see if she had left her ring on that morning. "How—?"

Shawn grinned, opening his eyes and relaxing back into the couch, throwing one arm over the back. "Geez, doc, I thought you were supposed to be a good listener. I told you, psychic."

Lassiter huffed and rolled his eyes, but thankfully the doctor was too busy with Shawn to notice. "So, you," she started, clearing her throat and attempting to regain her composure once again. "You two work together?"

Lassiter just couldn't help himself anymore. "_I_ work. He just flails around and makes it impossible for anyone to do their job."

Shawn snapped his fingers, pointing at the taller detective. "See, that's our problem right there, all nut-shelled up for you. I work, I aid, I assist, and I am always, _always_ right, but at the end of the day he ridicules and he mocks and he calls me a nuisance."

The doctor turned a sterner gaze than Lassiter might have liked on him. "Carlton, do you think there is any validity in Shawn's claim that you trivialize his contributions to your professional life?"

Lassiter glared at each in turn, hating the feeling that he had been ganged up on when, only a few moments ago, he had actually deluded himself into thinking that this could go well. "I…don't think that's what we're here to discuss."

The doctor frowned at him. "In cases involving both a personal and professional relationship, it is my experience that the two are never separate. When things get heated in one area, the conflict inevitably spills over into the other. It may be that the best way to solve your problems in a personal context would be to examine them through a professional one. I would like to remind you before you answer, however, that this is a safe, judgement-free space for you to talk about your issues. Nothing you say will be judged or held against you."

Lassiter glared over at Spencer, only to find the younger man already staring at him, a glint of…_something_, something Lassiter couldn't quite pin down, swirling around in his hazel eyes, and Lassiter shook himself, telling himself forcefully that he was not, _not_ gazing into Spencer's eyes like one of his love-sick groupies. "Alright," he sighed. He hunched forward, setting his elbows on his knees. "Maybe I do…make light of your accomplishments…Shawn. But it's only because the way you talk about my work makes me feel like I have to."

Spencer looked over at him, confusion evident. "What do you mean, Lassie?"

"Do you remember the last time I solved a big case on my own?"

Spencer's face scrunched just a little. "Yeah, like...two days ago, that pretzel cart thing."

"No, a real case, a big case."

"The astronomer thing." There was a hint of amusement in Shawn's eyes as he said it, but Lassiter let it pass.

"And do you remember the last time you let me forget that that was the last big case I didn't need your help on?" Lassiter ran a hand down his face, telling himself it was time he talked about this anyway. He had let his issues with the younger man fester for five years, and they hadn't gone away on their own. "Before you came to town, I was—"

"The big bad detective?" Shawn supplied helpfully.

Lassiter nodded, letting out half a laugh. "But now I'm just…Lassie." The name was uttered with more disgust than anger. "And you know, it's not even just you calling me that anymore. The other day, in the bull pen, I overheard a couple of junior detectives calling me that when they didn't think I could hear them." He grinned at the memory. Neither of them would ever try that again, he was sure. "If the rookies aren't even afraid of me, who is?"

"Um…the bad guys?"

* * *

><p>Who is this mysterious therapist? Why is Lassie being such a pill? Will he and Shawn finally start to see eye-to-eye? Stay tuned to find out!<p>

Feedback is appreciated.


	3. Capt Subtlety of the USS Secret Keeper

A/N: More fun times with Lassie and Shawn. Basically the inspiration behind this chapter was all the ideas I've had for this fandom as I watched the show. I'm hoping to get rid of the old ones so new ones can take over. This seemed like a good way to let them out.

I don't own the guys. I do own the good doctor, not that that's anything to be proud of.

* * *

><p>Lassiter had known that there was a chance of this happening when Shawn had suggested that they play this nearly straight, going in as themselves. Things had gotten too real too fast, but if he tried to stop now, the shrink would get suspicious. There was no way out, and things were getting out of hand.<p>

Shawn looked at him, all the jokes and the laughter gone from his face. "Sometimes, it feels like you don't trust me."

"And why should I? I've known you for years, Shawn; I've watched you flit from one girl to the next like a hummingbird, all the while having a crush on my partner—."

"You knew about that?"

"Everyone knew about that! You're not exactly Capt. Subtlety of the USS Secret Keeper, you dope. And why should I think that things will be any different with us? Why should I believe anything aside from the idea that you're going to wake up one morning, decide you're done with me, and move on to the next bar floozy you meet?"

"Is-Is that what this is about? You think I'm going to get bored with you?"

"Why would I think anything else?"

"Because this is different, Lassie, because this is you. I've been waiting for you ever since…do you remember after the separation? That night at the bar, the night you'd been separated for two years?"

"Not really."

"That's because you were really, really drunk. I was at this bar, flirting with some engaged woman, and I saw you from across the room, yelling at the empty space behind the bar like you thought the bartender was still there. I went over, and we talked, and you told me…you told me you missed having someone to go home to, someone who could pick you up from the bar when you were too drunk to drive, someone to give you a reason to stay home instead of going to get drunk in the first place. The whole time, you kept insisting you weren't drunk, and that you were fine to drive home, and that that wasn't the point. But I took your keys out of your pocket when you passed out on me, and I drove you home in your car. You woke up once I had pulled into your driveway, and once you figured out what was going on, you told me that I should stay with you that night, and you'd take me back to the bar to get my bike in the morning. I woke up on your couch with your gun in my face because you didn't remember inviting me in and you thought I had broken in to sleep on your favorite couch." Shawn grinned at the memory, his eyes never leaving Carlton's face. "I've been waiting for you ever since, Lassie. Now that I finally have you, I'm not going to screw this up, and I am _not_ going to get bored."

Carlton blinked. It was the most sincere thing Shawn had ever said to him, which probably should have told him something deep and unsettling about their long association, considering he knew it was all a lie, but for a moment, for a moment, he almost let himself believe. The truth was, he remembered waking up with Shawn in his house, he remembered driving Shawn back to the bar, and he remembered some story Shawn had sold him about walking to his house because it was closer. He also remembered that he had never told Shawn where he lived.

"And don't say floozy," Shawn finished with a grimace. "It makes you sound too much like my dad."

"You've spent a lot of time in casual relationships, Shawn?" the therapist asked, drawing both their attention once more.

"Let's call them what they were, doc, one night stands."

"Why do you think that might be?"

Shawn grinned, shaking his head, but Lassiter could see the seriousness in his eyes. "I can't remember the last functional relationship I was even aware of. I've never had any solid role models for healthy, long-lasting relationships, and before Lassie, I thought they were invented by Hollywood so they could dangle one more thing in front of us that we could delude ourselves into believing we could have. Now…now I don't know what I think."

"Carlton, is there anything you'd like to share at this point?" He glared at the woman sitting across the rug from them. "Perhaps if you told Shawn when you first knew you wanted to be with him?"

Lassiter sighed. He didn't know when the conversation had become something more than an act for the therapist's benefit, but he knew the answer he would have to give. "Let me start this by saying that any police information shared or referenced during this session is completely confidential."

"Of course."

He turned back to face Shawn. "Do you remember that speed dating case?"

"Only like it was yesterday," Shawn told him, bouncing only slightly on the couch, his grin nearly splitting his face in two.

"We were undercover," Carlton continued unnecessarily, "and you kept unbuttoning my shirt and touching me and talking about my chest hair."

"And you loved every second of it, right?" He snapped his fingers. "I knew the stern bush would get you," Shawn pronounced, grinning.

Lassiter tried to scowl, but he couldn't hide the ghost of a smile he knew from the other man's expression Shawn had seen. "Actually, it made me want to shoot you a little bit. But that was when I realized that yelling at you was the one thing in my life that I could do without being reminded of…Victoria," he admitted, looking down at the floor. _And the truth will set me free_, he thought wistfully.

"Victoria?"

"His ex-wife," Shawn clarified, his voice lighter than the subject should have allowed.

"You were married?" she asked with just a little too much shock in her voice, turning back to Lassiter.

"She was a bitch," Shawn interjected.

Carlton looked at him as though he wanted to argue, but could find no flaw in the younger man's reasoning. "Anyway," he said forcefully, changing the topic as quickly as possible, "that was when I realized…that you meant something to me. That you were important. That I wanted to keep you around."

Shawn grinned and took Lassiter's hand. He had to try less and less not to flinch away from the younger man's touch. "Lassie, as sweet as it is for you to say that, I want the people we care about to know it, too."

Lassiter saw the opportunity in Shawn's words and pounced on it. He kept his tone dark and accusatory. "Then why doesn't your father know about us, Shawn?" Carlton had to work to keep the grin off his face as the other man's eyes rounded in shock. If Lassiter was going to keep inventing a relationship, he was at least going to make it an interesting one.

Dr. Forest turned her chair to face Shawn more directly. "Shawn, have you kept your relationship with Carlton a secret from your father?"

The reddening of Shawn's face was beyond priceless, and Carlton was determined to remember every second of the look. "Yes, but it's more complicated than that. It's not like I'm ashamed of anything, I just don't think he'd be able to handle it." He turned in his seat to face Lassiter. "My dad and I just got to a good place in our relationship again. I'd really hate to have to go back to never speaking to him again because he didn't know how to deal with us."

"What do you mean, _go back_ to never speaking to him again, Shawn?" The woman asked it with a gently confused look in her eye.

"My dad and I…we have a complicated relationship. When I was young, he and my mom got divorced. I blamed him. He spent the next few years trying to control me, I spent them rebelling, and when I graduated I moved to Argentina for a while. When I came back to Santa Barbara a few years ago, my dad and I started working on…fixing things. Now, we're almost okay again. If he can't handle my relationship with Carlsbad Caverns over here, then I don't want to have him as a part of my life, so for now I'm not giving him the option. Maybe once he and I have had a little more time to build the "father son" thing back up, I'll give it a try, but for now he hasn't earned the benefit of the doubt." He turned in place to face Lassiter once again, putting a hand on the older man's knee. "This isn't an issue of me or you, this is all about him and his small-minded, thick-headed control freak ways." Shawn grinned. "But let's get back to the matter at hand. It took you all the way up to the speed dating case for you to realize you wanted me?"

Lassiter could feel his eyes narrowing. "…Yes."

That infuriating grin of his widened. "Come on, Lassie, even I knew you had the hots for me before that."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the case with all those suicides that looked like murders?"

"You mean the murders that looked like suicides?"

"I've—."

"No you haven't."

"_Anyway_," Shawn stressed, moving the conversation forward. "that was the first time I ever sat in your lap."

"And?"

"Well," Shawn said slowly, glancing over at the doctor, "the evidence was a little…_hard_ to ignore."

Lassiter could feel himself turning bright red, all the way up to his ears, and as he glanced over, the therapist found something very interesting to stare at on the tip of her shoe.

"Not that you'd ever let me know any other way," Shawn said, glaring just a little.

"What do you mean by that, Shawn?" Dr. Forest asked, intrigued and all too glad to be on another topic.

Shawn sighed, looking at Lassiter. "He treats me like he hates me."

"You can't really thing that," Lassiter said, feeling something like shock spreading across his face.

"How could I not? You take any excuse to distance yourself, you yell all the time, you're always telling me how annoying I am, you once compared me to drier lint!"

"Look, Shawn, just because I yell at you and you annoy the hell out of me and I want to shoot you sometimes, and—."

"Does this have a point?"

"None of that means that I don't love you."

"You…you love me?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, grumbling, "Of course I do, you idiot."

"You see that? He's taking a beautiful moment and…Lassitering it up!"

"Stop using my name as a verb! It's _not_ catching on, it's _not_ funny, and I _don't_ find it endearing!"

"It _is_ catching on. Gus and Jules use it all the time. Gus and I are working on a letter to Webster's. What do you think of the official definition?" Shawn cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. "To Lassiter: to make a situation more hostile than necessary."

Lassiter just glared, and after a moment Dr. Forest interceded. "And if I may ask, who are Jules and Gus?"

"Well, Gus is my best friend, and Jules in Lassie's partner in the department."

She nodded. "So you share a peer group; that's healthy. And do these friends of yours know about your relationship?"

Lassiter scoffed. "Probably. Not much gets by O'Hara, and Shawn hasn't kept a secret from Guster since…ever?" he asked, turning to Shawn.

Shawn nodded. "Secrets that don't involve him," he clarified. "Yeah, ever."

They would know. Every time the phantom of the idea of Spencer had popped into Lassiter's head, that thought had deterred him. It had stopped him from doing anything other than his patented scowl and growl every time Shawn landed haphazardly in his lap, or rubbed up against him like a deranged cat, or grabbed him and refused to let go. They would know. And lately he was wondering more and more if that bothered him enough not to try.

"But you haven't told them?" the doctor asked, seeming almost incredulous.

"No," Lassiter said as if it should be obvious.

"And Shawn's family doesn't know."

"No," Lassiter repeated, eyes narrow.

"Who exactly have you told?"

"Including you?" Shawn asked.

She gave a small nod. "If you like."

Shawn nodded in return. "You." He flashed a smile that only Lassiter fully understood. This was the first time he had allowed himself to imagine what a real relationship with Spencer would be like. Apparently it was complicated and therapy-worthy.

"That-that's it? You haven't told the most important people in your lives about your relationship?"

Lassiter jumped in defensively. "It isn't that simple. There are protocols to be considered. Telling people…would interfere with our work."

"Come on, Carlito, my Dad loves me and he still gets to work with me. I don't see the difference."

"That is both very disturbing and very unsurprising," Lassiter returned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, just…let me be sure that I understand this all clearly. You," she started, pointing at Lassiter, "are a detective with the Santa Barbara police department."

"Head detective," he corrected her with both an air of annoyance and habit.

"And you," she continued, pointing now to Shawn, "are a private investigator—."

"Psychic detective," he interrupted, looking at Carlton from the corner of his eye with a private grin.

"Who also works with the police department."

"Yup," Shawn confirmed.

"And you work cases together."

"That's right," Lassiter told her, suspicion in his eyes.

"And your father also works with you, but he doesn't know that you two are a couple."

"Uh-huh," Lassiter replied slowly.

"And neither do your partner," she said, gesturing to Lassiter, "or your best friend," she added, pointing to Shawn, "who also work with you both."

Shawn nodded. "That's about the size of it."

"Well," she said, eyebrows high, "that must…complicate things a bit." When her answer was a confused chorus of "not really" and "you have no idea", she nodded and made a note. "Well, gentlemen, it seems our time has run out for the day. I'd like to schedule another session with you, if you're both able to meet with me again."

Lassiter glared as Shawn started outlining his schedule, sighing deeply. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't know that it was always the second session that saw the couples disappearing.

"My schedule is…somewhat difficult at the moment. Several of my clients recently…cancelled on me, and I…well, I imagine you know all about that, working with the police as you do."

"About that. Doctor, no one can know that we were here. No one," Lassiter reiterated, hoping to distance them from the investigation.

The doctor shook her head, holding her hands up defensively. "Doctor patient confidentiality, detective. My lips are sealed, you have my word. Now, I have an opening for the same time on Wednesday. I realize two days is something of short notice, but I'd like to pick this back up as soon as possible."

* * *

><p>Has any of this really helped them solve this case? Is the next session going to go any better than this one? Who's been killing these poor couples? Only one way to find out.<p>

I had a ton of fun with this one, with more to come. If you liked it, or even if you didn't, there's a quick and easy way to let me know.


	4. I Left My Pride in My Other Pants

A/N: I've run out of pre-written chapters and so will now be updating as I finish. Expect a 2-3 day schedule. That said, I don't own the boys, though, really, if even one of us did…. Don't sue me or anything.

* * *

><p>Their session over, Lassiter and Spencer looked at one another for a moment. The pair stood, shook hands with the doctor and turned to go. Shawn eyed the bowl of mints on the doctor's desk, going so far as to place his hand in the bowl, then thought better of it. Turning back to Dr. Forest, he winked. "Carly's allergic. He wouldn't let me touch him for a week if I took one."<p>

Lassiter felt his face flush, and decided to believe that it was with anger. He told himself that he was not at all touched that Shawn had remembered his mint allergy, and that there was no way in hell he was imagining what other touching Spencer might have been referring to. He just kept walking, grabbing the younger man by the wrist and pulling him along.

As Lassiter moved to exit the therapist's office, he experienced a fear he hadn't known since he was fourteen, standing on the wall at his first school dance. He had no idea what to do with his hands.

What did couples coming out of therapy look like? Were they supposed to be angry, or happier? Should he be glaring at Spencer, or holding his hand? Right, at least he knew he would definitely not be holding Spencer's hand.

As they walked to the door, Spencer threw his arm around Lassiter's shoulders. Lassiter glared over at the shorter man, only to see Spencer grinning up at him. Lassiter growled low in his throat. "Brilliant, Lassie," Shawn whispered in a low, almost angry voice. "Argue with me."

"About what?" Lassiter asked, trying to match Shawn's tone.

"Anything. Just throw some of that barely restrained fury my way. Give me the growly voice and the wide eyes. Make it look like we're trying not to let anyone know how mad we are at each other. You can do repression, I believe in you."

Lassiter didn't have to dig too deep to find something to get upset about. He continued in the low voice, pulling his head a little closer to Shawn's. "Listen carefully, Spencer, because I don't want to have to repeat myself. I swear, if you tell _anyone_ what we talked about in there, they will never find your body."

"Does that go for the tape recorder in my pocket, too?"

"Spencer!" As they passed through the door and into the waiting room beyond, Lassiter could feel his control slipping. His muscles were tense, he could barely breathe, and he could feel the collar of his shirt digging into his neck.

"Perfect," Shawn whispered. "That's the exact shade of red I was going for. Keep it right there."

"I swear to—." Lassiter stopped, letting out the rest of his air in a huff and looking around the waiting room. He had been just starting to yell when every eye in the room turned to them. The receptionist they had met on their way into the office was shaking her head, sighing heavily. The couple leaving the office of the doctor with whom Dr. Forest shared the suite looked over sympathetically. And the couple waiting to see Dr. Forest looked over at them appraisingly. Something about the stare of the couple sitting in the waiting room made Lassiter uneasy, and suddenly he was nervous again.

As he pushed Spencer forward, Lassiter smiled big and leaned in close to Spencer's ear. "If I find out you really brought a tape recorder, if Guster starts dropping hints that he knows something, if any word of what just happened is breathed to anyone, and I mean _anyone_, I will destroy you." He spoke slowly, pouring all the anger Spencer had inspired into every syllable.

Lassiter didn't have to look to know that Spencer was sporting an ear to ear grin. Spencer leaned close, positioning himself so his mouth was less than an inch from the detective's ear. Hot breath ghosted across Lassiter's ear as Shawn whispered, "I'd just love to see you try." Shawn planted a quick kiss on Lassiter's cheek and led him out of the office.

* * *

><p>As they exited the building, Lassiter allowed his wrist to remain in Spencer's grasp for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Shawn led him out to his car, and they sat for a moment before Lassiter started the engine.<p>

Lassiter had wanted to bring a tactical vehicle with them, maybe a van, but that wouldn't have been practical. Or especially covert. Spencer had wanted to bring his favorite death trap, but Lassiter had vetoed the idea, arguing that it would make more sense for them to arrive together.

Lassiter wondered for a moment if perhaps they should have brought some sort of recorder. He was glad they hadn't, but he wondered if they should have. Maybe something the doctor had said, something anybody had said, might have proved useful. Lassiter shrugged to himself. He was sure he'd remember if anything came up.

As he pulled onto the main road from the parking lot, Lassiter adjusted his rearview mirror, catching sight of the car behind them. It would contain O'Hara, Guster and McNabb, who had come along on this little trip just in case the pattern had been broken and they had been taken unaware. Lassiter trusted O'Hara, and he was sure McNabb was relishing the experience, but that was about all he could say for their backup.

Shawn stared out the window as they continued down the road, heading back toward the station. The radio was shut off, and they drove in silence. Lassiter wasn't sure whether he preferred the silence over whatever conversation they could have had. If they had been talking, then Spencer would be talking, rarely a desirable option. But in the silence, all Carlton could do was reflect on what had been said in the office of the therapist, all the angry things they'd said, and all the less angry things. He was starting to wonder how many out of both columns he'd really meant when he decided he needed a distraction.

"You don't…really think I hate you, do you?" Lassiter spoke without taking his eyes off the road, seeking shelter in his habitual good driving.

He could, however, see from the edge of vision that Spencer's gaze had not left the window. "Oh, so now you want _Shawn's_ opinion?"

"…Not if Shawn's going to keep referring to himself in the third person, I don't."

As Spencer slowly turned to face him, Lassiter began to wonder if talking had been a mistake.

When Shawn spoke again, it was in a rush. His words were peppered by insolent huffs and his tone was an odd mix of childish and matter-of-fact. "Okay, no, I don't think you hate me. I think you act like you hate me. And do you know why you act like that? Hmm? You act like you hate me because you're afraid you don't. You're afraid that there's something else going on, that there's some other reason I get under your skin, and you can't handle that. So you act like you hate me so you can convince yourself that you do. But what do I know, I'm just psychic!"

Before Lassiter could break free of the stunned silence Shawn's speech had knocked him into, they were at the station and Guster was filling his passenger-side window. It was the best he could do to wipe the stupid look off his face before Guster turned to him. "Dude, how was therapy?"

"Gus," Shawn said easily, as though nothing had just happened, "Don't be the last mushy fruit loops in the bowl. It was awesome. Lassie and I totally rocked it, dysfunctional relationship style, and now we have clues and leads and suspects and a plan and closure on all our various issues."

Gus looked over at Lassiter, and then back to Shawn. "You don't have any of those things, do you?"

"Not a one, buddy."

* * *

><p>Lassiter stalked back to his desk, determined to get some real work done. He was just going over the files he had finally relocated when Juliet approached his desk.<p>

"Carlton, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Lassiter snapped, knowing as he did that it had come out too harsh, that O'Hara was just trying to be kind, to commiserate with him. After all, if he hadn't sent her to check out the doctor in the first place, it could have just as easily been her on that couch. But something in her tone just brought back the memory of the creepy couple they had seen as they left the office, and Lassiter couldn't get them out of his head. "I'm just…trying to get some work done."

"Look, I know it can't be easy…going into a situation like that…with Shawn, but this is the only lead we have right now, and you're right there following it. You're getting more work done than the rest of us put together."

Lassiter looked up at her, trying to keep his gruff front in place, but he could feel it slipping as O'Hara smiled at him. "You'll figure this out. Especially with Shawn right there with you."

"And what does that mean?"

O'Hara smiled, hedging slightly. "No one wants to tell you this, Carlton, but if you were to try, you and Shawn could make a pretty amazing team. You're good together."

* * *

><p>It was late at night, and Lassiter lay in bed. He had located, cleaned, disassembled and reassembled every weapon in his home. He had watched three hours of the COPS marathon currently running on basic cable. He had even tried that fruity dancing trick Guster had shown him. But he was stuck on the case, and he couldn't sleep.<p>

Carlton had never been one to let his body dictate his schedule, and so he lay in bed anyway, knowing full well that sleep wouldn't come just because he wanted it, but not yet ready to give up in his quest.

At first, it had been the crime scenes. He saw each one in his mind the way they had been when he and O'Hara had arrived on the scene. First the Hunters, then the Gibsons, then the Fords and, finally, last week, the Richardsons.

Every time it was the same. The husband was found holding a gun with no prints, and stab wounds in his chest matching a kitchen knife. The wife was found holding a kitchen knife with a gunshot wound to the temple. Always any forensic evidence matched the weapon the other victim had been found with. Each of the guns was clean, no prints, filed off serial numbers. Each of the knives was from a different set, none with prints, always drenched in the husband's blood.

At first, they hadn't known what to make of it. Neighbors would confirm that the couple had had problems, loud arguments; the Gibsons both had domestic assault charges on record. But with each couple, the two had died at the same time, only to be found on opposite sides of town.

When the third couple had turned up, Lassiter had been allowed to call it a serial. His hands were always so tied by the system that, regardless of what he thought, what his instincts were telling him, he had to play by the book and give the same press-release answers every time. Not like Spencer.

And just like that, it wasn't about the case anymore. Maybe it never had been. Lassiter stared at his ceiling, trying not to think of the whining and the moaning and the groaning that always accompanied Shawn's performances. He tried not to think of the way Shawn moved when he "saw" things, almost beyond the abilities of a normal human body. He tried not to think of the feel of Shawn's hand on his during their session earlier that day, or the rush he'd tried to hide as Shawn had teasingly kissed his cheek.

Lassiter groaned, turning on to his side. Perhaps sleep wasn't what he needed. If he slept, he would dream, and if he dreamt now, he was sure it would be of Shawn.

* * *

><p>Oho. What's this now? More to see, but only if you come back for it.<p> 


	5. One Real Answer

A/N: Yup, nothing's changed since last time. I haven't been brought on to the creative team over at Psych, and Steve Franks is still refusing to sign the rights over to me, so, for now at least, I don't own anything.

So, partly in thanks for all the kind and sweet reviews I've been getting, and partly in apology for the lateness of the update, long chapter this time round. A little angsty ridiculousness, a little sweet stuff, and one great cliffhanger (if I don't spoil it myself before you get that far); something for everybody. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Tuesday went by quietly, but all too quickly, and Lassiter felt as though he hadn't gotten a damned thing done. He had hoped to make some big, paradigm-shifting, perspective-altering, ground-breaking leaps in their current case (<em>to solve a series of brutal murders<em>, he told himself, _not to avoid another therapy session_), but no such luck. No matter how hard he stared at the photos, no matter how long he sat at his desk, nothing changed, nothing moved, nothing jumped out at him and said "Me, me, I'm the answer!"

Lassiter wondered briefly sometime around 2 where Spencer was, why he hadn't come to the station to pester him, whether everything was alright, but he thought far longer about what would need to happen for Lassiter to be able to file a restraining order against the man. That'd show him.

"Carlton!" O'Hara was standing in front of him, shouting his name. He looked up, trying to be upset, but he had no idea how long she'd been standing there, or how many times she'd tried to get his attention. "I said I'm going home," she repeated, clearly at least a little annoyed with him. "Are you staying here tonight?" Her expression landed somewhere between worried and resigned.

Lassiter looked around. The station was nearly empty. It was dark. He'd been sitting in this chair for at least nine hours, and he didn't remember getting up for lunch. _Great_. He grumbled under his breath, but for some reason, O'Hara thought he'd meant for her to hear him.

"What?"

"I said I don't know why I'm letting this get under my skin!"

Juliet gave him _that_ look, the one he hated so much, the sympathetic, patronizing, "I understand you" look. "Carlton, you're frustrated. We all are. This case…has been nothing but brick walls. But we have a lead now, a plan. And you get to be a part of it. Tomorrow's your second session with Forest, and that matches the timeline we had for the other victims. Everything will start making sense after that, I know it will."

He didn't try to tell her it wasn't the case that was getting to him, he didn't tell her that the next therapy session was what he was trying to avoid. He didn't even argue that she had no way of knowing that everything would magically turn out after tomorrow. Lassiter just grabbed his jacket and followed her out of the station.

Tonight, he didn't care what he dreamt of, so long as he could sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning came, and, as Lassiter entered the station tired and angry, he couldn't help but to once more notice Shawn's absence. Every time his phone rang, Lassiter jumped, fearing that someone on the other end had found Shawn holding a kitchen knife near the beach. He didn't even have the heart to smile as he cast Shawn in the woman's role in their imaginary relationship.<p>

They had expected that he and Shawn would be taken together after the next session, but what if someone had gotten to Shawn before then? What if he was already dead?

The more Lassiter thought about it, the more nervous he became. Why in the hell wasn't Spencer answering his phone? Why wasn't he here bothering Lassiter like he normally would be? Where was he?

Lassiter spread the crime scene photos out before him again, trying not to worry. He would try Shawn's phone again later. After all, Lassiter told himself, it was only 11 o'clock. He was probably still asleep. And he didn't need Spencer here, anyway. He worked better without his incessant buzzing around and inane, childish behavior.

Lassiter dialed Shawn's number again.

* * *

><p>Shawn stared at his phone, watching as a candid shot of Lassie yelling into his office phone illuminated the screen. His phone barked at him and, despite the annoyance and the anger, Shawn smiled.<p>

Shawn had thought for half a second that he was actually starting to understand Lassie, that he might be just another human. Then they had walked out of the session and Lassie had slid his Detective Face back on, threatening Shawn as usual. Even that wasn't so bad, and they had to appear to be a couple that would fit the violent pattern of the others, but outside had been no different. The ride back had been awkward and terrible, and Shawn was actually dreading the next time they would find themselves back in the doctor's office. He hadn't even gotten anything vision worthy out of all of it.

Gus looked up from across the room. "Dude, is that Lassiter again?" Shawn didn't answer. "That's like the fourth time in ten minutes. Maybe there's a break in the case, or a change of plans." Shawn looked up at him, eyes blank. "Maybe you should answer your damn phone, Shawn."

"If anything important was happening, he'd have tried you by now." Though petty, Shawn's logic was unassailable.

"Why are you so pissed at him, man?"

"I'm not…pissed; I just don't want to talk to him right now."

Lying to Gus was pointless. "Shawn."

"Okay, so maybe I thought he and I were having a good time undercover, and maybe I was starting to get to like therapy Lassie, because maybe therapy Lassie acts like a human being, and then the second we're out of there, he goes back to Detective Lassie, and Detective Lassie is a jerk." Shawn had seen many sides of Lassiter over the years, and it sucked that the one he liked best was an act.

"Maybe he doesn't like having to hang around that office, Shawn. And it's not like he can grouse around while you're supposed to be undercover."

"Yeah, he hates it because I forced him into it." Why had that seemed like such a good idea?

Gus shook his head slowly, and spoke as though Shawn were a stubborn child. "You ever think maybe there's a better reason that he doesn't like being in a therapist's office, Shawn? The dude was married. You saw what he was willing to do to get his wife back. You think maybe this whole thing is bringing up some bad memories for him?" Gus knew Shawn hadn't considered any of this, and looked over at him seriously.

Shawn's phone barked again and he answered without hesitation. "Hey, Lassie, we're totally on our way, be there in twenty."

* * *

><p>"So…it was quiet at the station without you." Lassiter knew it wasn't the best way to start, but it was all he'd been able to think about for the last two days.<p>

Shawn looked over at him, one eyebrow quirked. "Yeah? Must've been nice."

"At first." Lassiter looked over at Spencer, deciding to go for broke. "When I didn't hear from you, I…well, I thought maybe our killer had broken pattern, or…."

"Wait. Were you worried about me?"

"Not worried so much as…concerned." _Wait, that's not better._ "I just…you wouldn't answer your phone."

"I thought maybe you'd want some time to yourself. After last time, I didn't want to bother you."

Lassiter sighed, trying to focus on the road, but he couldn't help the glances he shot Spencer. "Look, this whole case has just been… difficult for me."

"Because of your divorce, right?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed and he found himself glaring out the windshield. "What? No, this has nothing to do with…why would you…?"

"Dammit, Gus," Shawn muttered.

"Wait, Guster…?" Lassiter's head whipped around.

Shawn launched himself across the cabin, grabbing the steering wheel in time to swerve back into their lane of traffic. "Lassie, watch the road!" The truck they had almost hit honked loudly, and Lassiter caught the first few notes of a song he didn't recognize as Shawn's phone began to ring. "Yeah, Gus. No. No. _No._ That was on me, I grabbed the wheel. I don't know! Tell her not to be a sticky box of Peeps your dad left in the sun too long. Yeah, yeah." Shawn put his phone back into his pocket. "Jules says hi." He looked up at Lassiter again, once he was sure the detective was focused on the road. "So…why difficult?"

Lassiter threw the car into park. "We're here."

* * *

><p>Lassiter and Shawn entered the office as though nothing had happened, Spencer's arm this time finding its way around Lassiter's waist. They strolled almost casually to the couch, and, if the doctor had looked up, she would only have seen a small glance exchanged between the two as they sat next to one another.<p>

Forest looked up to greet them over a note pad full of chicken scratch. "Gentlemen, I'd like to start today's session a bit differently. While reviewing my notes from our last session, it occurred to me that several of your issues stem from the secret nature of your relationship. I'd like to suggest an exercise which may help you both take the first step toward remedying these issues."

Lassiter was somewhat suspicious of the way she had approached the subject, but Shawn was practically bouncing on the couch. "Whatever you think is best, doctor," Spencer said with that same easy grin.

"The problem seems to be your inability to share intimate moments the way other couples do, due to your fear of the repercussions to your professional lives. As I said during our last session, nothing that happens here leaves this room; no one will judge you, this is a safe place." Lassiter could see where this was going, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. "If you were going to share a kiss in public, it would seem that this would be the best environment in which to start, would it not?"

Shawn eyed Lassiter slyly, turning in his position on the couch to face the older detective. Lassiter shook his head, smiling slightly despite his best efforts. He placed a hand on Shawn's shoulder, drawing him in slightly.

Carlton had intended to place a light, simple kiss on the other man's lips, but as he drew nearer, as the smell of Spencer filled his awareness with the sweet spice of pineapple and musk, he could feel his resolve, his control, crumbling. Suddenly, he was filled with an ache for the younger man, and he couldn't help himself.

The kiss was deep and hungry. Lassiter's hands were cupped around Shawn's jaw, and he could feel the younger man running one hand through his hair while the other cradled his neck. For a moment, there was no office, no doctor, no assignment. There was only Spencer, only the lips on his, only the tongue in his mouth, only the scent and taste and gorgeous pressure that was Shawn.

Lassiter came to his senses abruptly, pulling back and clearing his throat. He adjusted his suit jacket as he straightened in his seat, willing the color out of his cheeks.

As Lassiter disengaged, Shawn had given a short, whining moan. He had yet to turn around, and now grabbed Lassiter by the shoulder, spinning him in place to face the shorter man. "Why can't we just enjoy this for once? For one minute? What the hell are you so afraid of, Lassie?"

"Do you remember what happened with Lucy?" Carlton surprised even himself as the words came out of his mouth, but he knew it had to be said. "I had a relationship, a good, healthy relationship, and once people found out about us, she was gone. Just like that, no hearing, no meeting, just gone! Vick didn't even tell me it was happening until O'Hara had already been transferred in from Miami."

Shawn was quiet for a moment, and Lassiter almost thought he had gotten through to him. Almost. "Lucy? Really, that was her name?"

"This isn't a joke, Spencer! I'm so sick of everything being a game with you!"

Shawn looked over at the older detective, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Lassie, people have been trying to get rid of me for five years. I'm not going anywhere. The worst Vick could do to me is fire me and, let's face it, she's already tried. A lot. I'm sticking around, whether the big bad boss wants me to or not, and there's not a thing that's going to change that." Shawn paused, deciding to try a different tack. "Do you remember how many jobs I had before I came to work with the department?"

"Fifty seven." Shawn smiled. He said it in such an off-handed manner, like everyone just carried that information around with them.

"And do you know how many jobs I've had since then?"

Lassiter scowled. "The answer had better be none."

"Actually it's nineteen, but the point is, I keep coming back, no matter how hard you guys try to push me away. I'm like foot fungus; you can't get rid of me without the special cream, and you know that stuff makes your hands stinky, and nobody wants to use it."

Carlton tried to scowl again, but he couldn't stop himself from laughing as he shook his head. "You're disgusting, Shawn."

The psychic in question looked devilishly up at the tall detective. "You love me."

"Not by choice." The smile eventually faded, but the look in Lassiter's eye didn't. "Give me one real answer, Shawn. Just one."

"You have to ask a real question first."

"Why me?" he asked, his throat becoming unexpectedly tight. "This job, this life, and you could have anyone. Why me?"

"Do you know who I was before this? I was a snarky asshole on a bad path. I couldn't hold down a job or a relationship, and I only had one person in the world who even sort of cared if I lived or died."

Shawn was yelling, but it wasn't in anger. His voice was harsh with an emotion Lassiter could almost pin down. Carlton's throat tightened painfully, making everything that much worse. He never got choked up. He tried to will away the unshed tears interfering with his vision, but it was no use.

"This…this job, this…life, whatever you want to call it, it gave me back my everything. My family, my friends, my purpose. And even though I got all that, all I could feel was this big hole in my life, where there should have been something but there wasn't. And I wanted it. I wanted whatever could fill that hole. When I'm with you, the hole doesn't seem so big, or so empty."

Lassiter swallowed, taking a deep, shaky breath, and hoped that neither of them had seen it. "Shawn that's…." He paused, trying to find the right words. "That's easily the nicest thing anyone has ever said to, about or around me."

Shawn gave him half a smirk. "You asked for a real answer."

A comfortable silence stretched between them during which neither could look away. Until the doctor spoke once more. "You two are…certainly a unique couple." As Regina looked between the two of them, they could both sense the question brewing behind the glasses. "So…if you don't mind my asking…how did you two…_become_ a couple?"

* * *

><p>Yes, I'm an awful, awful person, but you'll have to wait for that one.<p> 


	6. Lassitering Up a Good Thing

A/N: I own nothing. Except for the stuff I do.

On to the parts you all came here for!

* * *

><p>Dr. Forest looked between the two men sitting across the rug from her, trying to ask in the most tactful manner possible the question which had had her stumped since the moment the two had begun to speak. "So…if you don't mind my asking…how did you two…<em>become<em> a couple?"

Lassiter's eyes slid to Shawn, where he saw the psychic staring right back at him. He felt the corners of his lips begin to tug up, and he knew the answer he would give. "It was a little over a year ago," he started, only to be interrupted by Shawn.

"Lassie was on suspension because everybody at the department thought he had shot this drug dealer they had in holding. He was getting ready to make this big deal for information, then they find him dead in his cell, with Lassie and his gun standing over him."

"But Shawn never thought I did it."

"Gus did."

Lassiter looked over at Shawn, brow furrowed. "He did?"

Shawn grinned. "Oh, yeah, he thought you killed that guy dead. He was afraid to be alone with you. Didn't you wonder why he kept following me into the bathroom while you were at the office?"

Lassiter's eyebrows shot up and, yeah, in hindsight that was a little strange. "I guess I didn't think that much of it at the time."

"Lassie, I need you to stop overestimating the weirdness of my and Gus's relationship. Give us some credit, man."

"So Shawn was helping you clear your name?"

Lassiter shook his head, clearing it of all the thoughts of Shawn and Guster's strangeness. "Right. He spent his time, effort; put his credibility with the department, his livelihood, on the line for me." Lassiter looked over at Shawn, remembering how weak he had been, ready to give up, and Shawn had saved him.

"So fast forward a few days, and this crazy guy, Drimmer, is playing dirty cop with the drug ring our dead guy was about to flip on. Turns out he also did some murdering and managed to find a convenient fall guy, no offense Lassie. Now Drimmer's managed to get Lassie and me at gunpoint in Lassie's place, and…well, that didn't end too well for him."

Lassiter grinned as he looked over at Shawn.

"Although, now that I think about it, the dude was kind of a genius for getting that far, and with both of us. Anyway," Shawn continued. "Cops come and go, Drimmer gets booked, but I couldn't find my phone. He'd taken it off me when we first got to Lassie's place, and the police couldn't find it when they searched him. He'd tossed it somewhere in Lassie's house. So after the police left, and Lassie was all exonerated and whatnot, I was—."

"Crawling around on his hands and knees in my living room," Lassiter interrupted, laughing, "with his head so far up my couch I could almost see it coming out the other side."

"Looking for my phone," Shawn finished pointedly, giving Lassiter a glare which held absolutely no heat, "when Lassie comes over with some coffee and he says…what did you say, sweetie?"

Lassiter didn't miss a beat, not even stopping for the 'sweetie' comment. Putting on a gruff voice and a stern expression, he said, "Spencer, you did good, now get the hell out of my house."

"Of course, I've still got my head in the couch, and now I'm stuck. I got my hair caught in a bunch of the springs, and I can't get out. I try to tell Lassie, and before I even know what's happening, the whole couch is flipped over, and he's got me loose, and he's holding my head in his hands and asking if I'm okay, and I think, 'Wow, this is the most human I've ever seen him.'"

"And that's when I kissed him," Lassiter said, smiling almost proudly.

Shawn's head whipped around to face the detective, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Kissed me? No, no, I'm sorry, Lassie, no. I kissed you. And you were all, 'Spencer, what the hell are you doing?'" Shawn said, putting on his best Lassiter impersonating voice. "And I was all, 'Dude, you're cute when you're all concerned about me and stuff. I couldn't help myself.'"

Lassiter frowned. "That's not how it happened, Shawn. I told you I thought you were cute when you were scared and helpless, and you said you were just doing that for Drimmer, so you could buy me time for my plan. And I told you I hadn't had a plan, and then you passed out."

"Did I hit my head on the way down?"

"On the coffee table _and_ the hardwood floor. It actually bounced a little and hit the floor twice. I almost called an ambulance."

"Huh, maybe that's where the rest of that stuff came from." Shawn sat for a moment, thinking. He turned again to Lassiter. "I think I like my way better."

Doctor Forest smiled. "Have you ever gotten to tell that story before?"

Lassiter frowned. "No. I…_We_ spent a lot of time pretending it didn't even happen. I guess I had forgotten…it was just one moment when everything made sense, and Shawn was all I needed to make my life make right again. But then everything got…complicated again, and we pretended it didn't happen. I thought, after the fall, maybe Shawn didn't even remember it. I don't think we've even talked about it since," he said, turning his head on its side and facing Shawn.

There was a twinkle in the younger man's eye. "You never even told me that."

Lassiter smiled down on him, putting an arm around the back of the couch and letting his hand settle on Shawn's shoulder. "About two weeks later, Shawn was in a fire and…." Lassiter tried not to remember the explosion, the sinking feeling in his chest when he realized that Shawn had been in the building, the hole that had opened up in the pit of his stomach, threatening to swallow up everything else.

Shawn picked up where Lassiter had left off, putting a hand on the other man's knee. "Lassiface tracked me down at my place that night, drunk and yelling about how I was being stupid and irresponsible and I had people who cared about me, that I never thought about anything before I acted and…he grabbed me and he kissed me and he told me if I ever did anything that stupid again, he'd…."

Lassiter smiled as Shawn finally started to show some emotion deeper than the grin that barely left his face. "I told him if he ever made me think I'd lost him again, I'd shoot him in the thigh."

"Once again Lassitering up a great moment," Shawn added, grinning again.

Lassiter didn't even argue, choosing instead to give Shawn a grin of his own. He liked pretending that their story was true. It was enough to know that Shawn remembered their kiss the night of the Drimmer incident, if in his own way, but Lassiter wished like hell he'd actually had the courage to go to Shawn that night after the explosion. He'd tried a dozen times, at least, but he'd always lost his nerve before he even made it to the car.

Seeming to remember something important, Shawn stiffened in his seat. He threw his hands up into the air and started yelling. "Then, after all that, it took us going to therapy to tell me he loved me!"

_Oh, right. Therapy._ "Well I'm sorry I don't let you dictate the terms of my affection, Shawn. Why don't you tell me when to say it next time?"

"I'm not saying be a robot, Lassie! I just want to know when the hell you'll be comfortable enough with our relationship to tell me you love me without having to yell it!"

"Maybe I like yelling!"

"Do you see what I'm dealing with, here, doc?" Shawn asked, turning back to face Forest.

Dr. Forest looked between the two of them, then set her note pad on the desk behind her. "Gentlemen, I don't think you belong here." _Uh-oh._ "Despite what sitcoms and romantic comedies would have you believe, combative relationships are not necessarily dysfunctional ones. I'd have to be very bad at my job, indeed, not to see that you two care a great deal for one another, and this dynamic is clearly working for you. You two should consider yourselves very lucky. Honestly, it's the couples that don't fight that I really worry about."

Shawn and Lassiter shared a grin, then stood from the couch. Lassiter went to shake the doctor's hand, but was interrupted by Spencer, swooping in to hug the woman. "I think you've helped us more than you know, doc. Thanks."

Spencer backed up, and Lassiter shook the woman's hand, muttering a lame "thanks" before turning his back. As they walked back to the door, preparing to make their exit, Spencer stopped looking up at Lassiter. In the small hallway between the office and the waiting room, they were shielded from the eyes and ears of everyone in either room. Here they could talk.

"This is what we've been waiting for," Spencer reminded him. "Remember, look pissed, almost like you want to strangle me right there in the waiting room."

Spencer smacked Lassiter's ass once, quickly and confidently, as though they were headed out to a football field. Lassiter's eye twitched. "No problem," he muttered.

* * *

><p>Shawn scurried out in to the waiting room a beat before Lassiter, tripping slightly. His eyes were wide and he could just hear his own breath hitch as he tried to run nonchalantly from the room he had left.<p>

Lassiter, right on cue, was hot on his heels, yelling like a madman. Shawn didn't have to turn to see that his face was beet red and the little vein in his neck was popping out just a little too far. "Shawn! Shawn, get back here! We're not done here!"

"Yes we are! We're done!" Shawn ran a little faster for the door on the other side of the waiting room. It wouldn't take him directly outside, but into the privacy of another short, close hallway. He ran past tables surrounded by chairs, tripping over one of the chair legs, stumbling only to pick himself back up and run into the door with a thud.

Slipping through the door, Shawn rushed across to the far wall and waited. It was a long moment before Shawn heard the door open behind him. Lassiter was certainly taking his sweet time about it, wasn't he? Turning in place, Shawn began to speak. "It's about time, Lass—." He froze in place when he realized that Lassiter wasn't standing behind him. There was a short, kind-looking blonde woman, probably in her mid-thirties, standing in the small room with him. "I'm sorry, I just…I thought you were…."

"The gentleman you were fighting with in the waiting room?" Her eyes were kind, and Shawn almost felt bad for making her worry about him.

"Yeah. He's not…I mean, _we're_ not…it's just, lately…." He sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in mock defeat.

"Let me guess. The relationship doesn't seem to be going anywhere. All you do is fight, and nothing you do for him is ever enough. He just keeps pushing and pushing until all you can think about is getting in your car and getting away."

"How—how did you know? Oh, god," Shawn started, feigning humiliation. "You can hear us through that door, can't you?"

The woman smiled, stepping closer. "My Thomas and I used to be quite a lot like you. The yelling, the fighting, and nothing ever changed. We got to a place where we didn't even know why we were still together. That's when we met Dr. Forest; the woman is a miracle worker. Suddenly, Thomas and I were seeing eye-to-eye again, and everything else just started to make sense. We don't even fight anymore. I'm Joanna," she said, holding out her hand.

Shawn took it, shaking slightly. "Shawn." _It's the couples that don't fight that I really worry about._ Dr. Forest's words echoed in his head. "The doc said we don't belong here, that there's nothing she can do to help us." He ended the declaration with something approaching a pitiful sob.

Joanna stepped closer, putting a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Oh, that's terrible, dear! Maybe there's something Thomas and I can do for you."

"What do you mean?" Shawn tried to ask, but after a strangled-sounding "Wha?" he found himself unable to speak.

There was a pain in his shoulder as Joanna removed the needle, holding it in front of her eyes. "Thomas and I just love to help struggling couples" were the last words Shawn heard.

* * *

><p>Lassiter stood for a moment, watching Shawn storm off, then ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh and made to stalk after him.<p>

"Care for a little unsolicited advice?" Lassiter looked down at the man sitting with his nose in a magazine. "Let him go."

"Why?"

The man folded the magazine and set it on the table in front of him. As he looked up at Lassiter, the detective made note of everything he could about the man. His green eyes were sharp and clear, his dark hair was carefully groomed, and his mouth was set into a soft, commiserating grimace. "If you go after him now, it's just one long, running argument. The yelling starts up again, things get heated, then…trust me, you don't want to go down that road. Give him a little time to blow off some steam, clear his head, let the dust settle a little. Once he's thinking clearly again, he'll start to see reason."

Lassiter narrowed his eyes, but reached a hand out all the same. "Carlton."

"Thomas," the man said, shaking the proffered hand.

"How do you know so much about our argument, Thomas?"

"It's not just your argument," Thomas told him, "it's every argument. And trust me, Joanna and I have had _every_ argument. After a while, you either pick these things up or let everything fall apart."

"Not an option," Lassiter told him forcefully.

Thomas smiled. "Glad to hear you say that, Carlton. Joanna and I hate quitters."

Before Lassiter could begin to question the meaning of his last statement, Thomas was standing up, patting Lassiter's shoulder. He felt a small twinge of pain, but found he couldn't say anything as Thomas half-led, half-dragged him to the door.

* * *

><p>Dun dun dun! Who's excited to find out what comes next? I hope it's everybody….<p> 


	7. For Your Own Good

A/N: I don't own Lassiter or Shawn, but the crazy-face O'Tooles are all mine.

* * *

><p>The world was dark and cold. As Lassiter rolled onto his back and tried not to vomit, all he could tell was that he was somewhere cold. He tried to open his eyes, but he found he was incapable of anything that did not involve lying very still with his eyes closed and his mouth open. His breathing was becoming more and more steady, right up until he heard the moan.<p>

It had come from close by, and could only have been Spencer. Opening his eyes took great effort, but snap open they did as Lassiter looked around for the other man. What he saw was would have had him shivering even if there hadn't been such a chill in the air.

Shawn lay on the ground near him, arms limp, trying unsuccessfully to lift his head. Every time he got his neck off the ground, his strength would give out, and his head would fall once more to the ground, thudding loudly. Shawn's eyes were still closed, and he didn't quite seem to know what he was doing. Try as he might, Lassiter was unable to move himself any closer to the psychic.

"Spencer," Lassiter called out in a loud whisper. "Shawn. Where are we? What do you remember?"

"Some crazy bitch with a needle," Shawn muttered.

The lights snapped on and Lassiter hissed, trying to shield his eyes. It was no use; his arms were still too heavy to lift. "Well, now, Mr. Spencer, there is just no call for such rude language." The voice was familiar, but it wasn't until the man stepped into sight that Lassiter recognized the man he had been speaking with when everything went sideways: Thomas. There was a small woman following him that Lassiter could only place for the moment as _crazy bitch_.

Glancing around, Lassiter saw that they were in some sort of office space. Walls made of foam cubicle material not tall enough to reach the ceiling boxed them in, and lights hung low from the ceiling far above. From the stale smell of the air and the lack of windows, Lassiter would have bet a week's peace and quiet that they were in a basement somewhere. And their captors were approaching from beyond the walls of the large "room" in which they found themselves.

Thomas's wide smile didn't so much as falter as Shawn called out, "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" His eyes were still shut, but Shawn was beginning to sit up.

Thomas's voice was light. "No call for such language, Shawn," Thomas repeated, strolling over and cuffing Shawn lightly on the back of the head. In Shawn's state, he may as well have punched him. The small action sent Shawn back to the floor, but his eyes were open now.

Lassiter was beginning to feel the effects of whatever Thomas had used to drug him wear away. Noticing the gun in Thomas's waistband, Lassiter opted for the polite behavior the man seemed determined to get. "Shawn," Lassiter said, "I'd like you to introduce you to Thomas. And this must be Joanna," he said, remembering the conversation he'd had with the man.

"Yes, Joanna and I have met."

Thomas smiled. "It's so nice to see a couple bouncing back like this. Usually we have to introduce ourselves all over, and there's so much more screaming. You two…I think you're going to be a good fit. But listen to me, getting to business so soon. Thomas O'Toole, at your service, Mr. Spencer, and just so glad to meet you."

Shawn was sitting up once more, eyes open, returning to his normal level of energetic insanity far more quickly than Lassiter would have believed possible. "Wait, O'Toole? So, you're Irish?"

"I am," Thomas told him slowly, sounding almost confused.

"Lassie's Irish!" Shawn shouted, as though that would explain everything.

"So?" Thomas clearly wasn't following Shawn's logic and, truth be told, neither was Lassiter.

"_So_, don't you guys have some sort of Irishman's code or something? You know, rule number one, no kidnapping of a fellow Irishman and his boyfriend. Rule number two, probably something potato related. And there has to be a whole chapter devoted to the etiquette of your various dances…."

Despite their situation, Lassiter sighed, shaking his head. "The worst part is that you probably think that's a real thing."

Thomas chuckled, his voice remaining light. "I wouldn't technically say we've kidnapped you, Shawn. We're still in Dr. Forest's building, after all. I understand this area," Thomas said, gesturing to their surroundings, "was once used as corporate office space for a manufacturing company. But with the market downturn…well, let's just say nobody really comes down here anymore. It's nice and private." Thomas smiled the unsettling smile Lassiter remembered seeing as they had come into the waiting room after the first session. "And besides, boys, this is for your own good."

Joanna stepped further into the room, then, helping Shawn to his feet. Thomas took a step closer to Lassiter, but he was already steadying himself without help. _And I'll be damned if I let that lunatic touch me again_, Lassiter thought.

"What do you mean, for our own good?" Lassiter asked.

"I'm pretty sure my own good wants to be somewhere the sun is," Shawn added.

Holding Shawn's arm as he steadied on his feet, Joanna began to speak. "What I told you earlier was true, Shawn. Thomas and I used to have some deep troubles. And Dr. Forest _is_ a miracle worker. Thomas and I are that miracle. And it just hurts so much to see couples come to her that she can't help."

"So you started helping them yourselves," Shawn finished for her.

Joanna beamed. "That's right. Oh, I told you he was bright, Thomas!"

Shawn shook his head. "Not bright, psychic."

Thomas frowned. "Now, this can't work if you insist on lying to us, Shawn."

Shawn shook his head weakly, seeming to regret the action. "Not lying, psychic. How else would I know that your original therapy was court ordered?"

Lassiter had actually figured that one out for himself. Their shared willingness to kidnap strangers pointed to a baseline insanity, and Thomas's casual violence indicated a potential history of abuse, but he wasn't about to take the moment from Shawn. "He's telling you the truth, he's a psychic." Lassiter couldn't help looking over at Shawn as he said the words he never thought would pass his lips.

Shawn shot Lassiter a short grin, then pulled his hand up to his temple, closed his eyes and continued speaking. "The judge ordered you to therapy…I'm seeing three sessions a week. And you love Dr. Forest, she fixed your relationship. But she can't help everybody; after all, she's only human. But you two, oh, you two have seen it, you two have been to the brink; you know what it takes to make this thing work." Shawn's brow furrowed and he started to shake his head slightly. "I'm seeing angry, arguing couples, couples the good doctor couldn't help. So you had an idea. Maybe if you talked to them, if you could just get them to listen, maybe you could fix them, too. You'd be helping those poor people, and Dr. Forest, and you both love the work so."

Thomas smiled. "You're right. All we wanted to do was help those people."

Shawn continued without opening his eyes. "But some people can't be helped, can they, Joanna? They resisted, they fought you…."

"They wouldn't listen," Joanna said in a sad panic. "They just kept yelling and they wouldn't let us help. When I talked to those women, they…they didn't want to be with their husbands any more. They just wanted it to be over."

"So you helped them there, too," Shawn said gently.

Before Joanna could continue, Thomas stepped back into the conversation. "Just like we're going to help you. You two…you're different, I can tell. You won't just give up when it gets hard. I think you two will be our greatest achievement, don't you think, dear?"

Joanna nodded, but said nothing.

At this point, the drugs had cleared his system to the point that Lassiter was almost completely aware of what was going on. If what Shawn had said was right, there might still be a way out of this for them yet. Lassiter's heart sank slightly as he looked again at Thomas, finally pinning down what had been so familiar about the gun at his belt. It was Lassiter's own service weapon.

Thomas looked down at Lassiter and smiled, but it was a cold, sickening smile. "Oh, Detective, you can have this back once I'm sure you two will be all right. Until then, you'll be coming with me, and Shawn here will be staying with Joanna. We're going to get to the bottom of your problems once and for all. What do you say?" Thomas reached down and offered Lassiter his hand.

Lassiter wanted to say something along the lines of "See you in hell" and use the proffered hand to drive Thomas's head into the floor. But then he'd still have to worry about Joanna, who was standing far too close to Shawn for Lassiter's taste, and Thomas _did_ still have his gun. Lassiter's stomach turned as he clasped Thomas's hand, shaking it weakly. "I say Shawn and I should be thanking you right about now," Lassiter said through gritted teeth.

Thomas's smile widened. "See, Joanna. I think they're the ones."

"Could Shawn and I have a moment before we get started?" Lassiter asked as Thomas turned to face him once again. Thomas looked doubtful for a moment, but he agreed all the same, and that was all that mattered.

Lassiter crossed the short distance between them quickly, taking one of Shawn's hands in both of his and giving him an urgent look he hoped the younger man would understand. Shawn had always been good under pressure, and perhaps whatever abilities had allowed him to garner the psychic clout would allow him to read the situation and Lassiter's meaning. Realizing that the couple who had taken them were standing all too close and watching their every move, Lassiter chose his words carefully.

"We can get through this," Carlton told Shawn as he stared into frightened hazel eyes. "You and me…we're good together," he said, remembering what O'Hara had told him what seemed like years ago. "We're going to be okay. We're going to make it."

Without a second thought, Lassiter wrapped an arm around Shawn's waist and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He felt Shawn's arms snake around his back to hold him close, and he relished the sensation. As he pulled away, Lassiter rested his chin on Shawn's shoulder, standing for a moment in a comforting hug. As they stood, Lassiter whispered in Shawn's ear, "All we have to do is get what we can from them and stay alive. Backup will be here any time. Keep it together and stay on your toes."

They parted and Shawn smiled. "I love you too, Lassie."

Before Lassiter could respond, he was being led away by Thomas, and Shawn was being taken firmly by the wrist by Joanna. He kept his eyes on Shawn until Thomas pulled him around a corner, and he tried not to see the fear in the young psychic's eyes.

Lassiter let his own words play back in his mind. _We're going to be okay. We're going to make it._ He tried not to let the fact that they were still in the office building bother him. He tried to pretend that it hadn't occurred to him that without watching them leave, their backup would have no choice but to continue to wait for hours. He tried not to think of the phrase "doctor patient confidentiality" as he imagined O'Hara trying to get answers out of Forest. He tried to tell himself that everything would turn out all right in the end, because it had to. But without Shawn nearby to be strong for, Lassiter could feel himself starting to panic, and the cold eyes Thomas turned on him weren't helping one bit.

* * *

><p>What exactly have these two been up to? Can they really cure Lassie and Shawn of their issues? What happened to those other couples?<p>

I'm almost scared to find out. Tune in next time.


	8. Everybody Wants to Fix Shassie

A/N: I don't own Shawn or Lassiter or O'Hara or Gus or Buzz, or Bill from True Blood (you'll get it in a minute) or the Palo Alto sandwich run (it's a real thing, and it's just as crazy as it sounds).

So, I looked back and realized that, just because this is a primarily Shassie tale, that doesn't mean nobody else should get lines. I haven't really written for Jules or Gus, so let me know how that ends up going.

* * *

><p>Gus and Jules sat in her car, waiting in an uncomfortable silence. Once McNabb had left to make a sweep of the area, the situation had become awkward. As they wracked their brains, trying to come up with something, <em>anything<em>, to talk about, all either could truly focus on was the case at hand.

Which, in the end, provided its own conversation. "Has Shawn said anything to you about…the operation, at all?" Juliet asked the question without turning her head.

Gus glared out the windshield. "No. This is the least he's said to me about anything, ever. At first it was kinda nice, and I _don't_ need to know about their fake relationship, but after a while it got…really creepy. He just sits in his chair, not talking about stuff. Why? What did Lassiter say?"

Juliet frowned, staring out the window. "Lassiter has been…very weird about this whole case."

"Yeah, Shawn's been pretty uptight, too. Those two must be getting into some pretty deep stuff in there."

"Well, it's not like they don't have their issues." Juliet turned in her seat to face Gus, her demeanor changing back to the upbeat cheerleader Gus knew so well. "Can I tell you something that doesn't leave this car?" Gus nodded slowly. "Sometimes, around the station, when Carlton's in one of his "Shawn moods", I day dream about locking the two of them in an interrogation room and not letting them out until they can get along."

Gus raised an eyebrow. "And how does that work out?"

"Sometimes they work out their differences, and everything is _so_ much better." She said it with such enthusiasm, such longing, that Gus almost wished it could work.

"Sometimes?"

"Okay, so most of the time they starve to death."

Gus laughed. "Okay, I'll admit, from time to time, when Shawn has convinced me to drive to Palo Alto for a 2 AM sandwich run, I _have_ thought about ditching him in Lassiter's front yard, burning rubber, and never looking back."

"What stops you?"

Gus shrugged. "It's a company car. I'd have to replace the tires."

Juliet laughed. "Why Palo Alto?"

"That one I have to give to Shawn. Best sandwiches on the west coast."

Juliet laughed again, and Gus joined her in the moment. When they had finally settled, Juliet's expression was thoughtful. "You know, if you and I worked together, I bet we really _could_ get those two to behave."

"What? You mean bribe them with the sandwiches while they starve to death in the interrogation room?"

"Hey, I'm serious. Think how much better our lives would be if those two could get along."

"It _would_ be nice."

* * *

><p>"What's the worst thing Shawn's ever done to you?" Thomas was staring at Lassiter with those unsettling eyes again, and standing just too close.<p>

After having been led to a smaller room, a true cubicle, and sat in an office chair, Lassiter had been forced to endure a longwinded speech about forgiveness. Apparently, it was the first step on the road to a happier, safer relationship. But it also involved making a list. After all, you had to know exactly what you were forgiving, didn't you?

Lassiter sighed. "That's…that's a long list. But the worst thing…. Well, the time he invited an address book full of convicted felons to my house is definitely up there near the top. I had to move after that one."

Thomas looked as if he didn't believe the detective, which Lassiter already knew was a prelude to another strike. Lassiter wasn't about to let the man hit him, but he couldn't struggle too much with Shawn unaccounted for. "Why would he invite criminals to your house?"

"He was trying to throw me a surprise party. Instead of grabbing the book full of my close friends, which I admit would be smaller," _if it existed_, "he grabbed the much larger index of people I'd put away. In his defense, he did only invite the repeat offenders. Otherwise, it would have been a bigger event. Let's see, terrible things Shawn has done to me. He broke into my house a number of times, before we were together, and then again several times after. He sabotages my work on occasion. He actually drugged and kidnapped me, once."

"He did what?" Now Thomas was intrigued, and Lassiter knew he had him.

"Well, he wanted to go to San Diego, but he didn't want to go alone. His best friend was out of town on a business trip, so Shawn invited me to lunch, threw some allergy medication in my drink when I went to the bathroom, and when I passed out into my burrito, he put me in my car and just…started driving."

Thomas nodded, almost covering the look of judgmental shock on his face. "And was this before or after you became a couple?"

"Before. When I woke up, I would have shot him and just been done with the whole mess, but he had taken my gun. And my driver's license and credit cards so I wouldn't leave without him at rest stops." Lassiter grinned at the memory. He had screamed and shouted and threatened and vented and secretly loved the adventure of it. Not to mention the fact that Shawn had chosen him. "But the worst thing he ever did was letting me think he was dead."

Thomas's brow furrowed. "When was this?"

Lassiter shrugged. "Pretty constantly. Shawn runs into dangerous situations he doesn't understand, and just improvises. He's been kidnapped, shot, blown up…I'm pretty sure he drowned at one point. He once _walked_ into what he already knew was a bank robbery. He was willingly trapped on a small boat with a murderer once; he actually spends a lot of his time trapped in small spaces with murderers. I hate when he does that to me, when he makes me worry."

"You're worried right now, aren't you?" Thomas was looking him in the eye, and something had changed. The green eyes had softened somewhat, looked almost human.

"I am." Lassiter hated admitting it, especially to this stranger, but there was no way around it. He was worried about Spencer, and it was a feeling he was becoming all too familiar with.

"And you hate that." Thomas's eyes shifted again, gaining a strange intensity.

"I do."

Thomas hadn't blinked. "Does it make you angry?"

Lassiter barely had to think about that. "It does."

"Tell me about that. Tell me about the anger."

* * *

><p>Shawn hated office space. The actual concept, not the movie, because he found the movie <em>hilarious<em>. No, it was the small, sardine, trapped-in-a-box feeling of a cubicle that Shawn couldn't stand. For all the jobs he'd had, never once had he spent time in a cubicle. Until now.

Joanna had led him to this particular box after her gun-toting husband had taken Lassie. And Shawn knew where the gun had come from. They'd gotten it from Lassie, which meant they'd been searched. Which meant these lunatics had touched them, which was just so far from cool. Shawn felt the kind of possessive anger he'd never known take hold in his gut when he imagined Tom's hands on Lassie.

Joanna was speaking, and Shawn had to try a little too hard to concentrate. "Let's start with something positive!" Her voice was far cheerier than Shawn had expected for a deranged kidnapper, but, then, she didn't seem all that in touch with reality, either, so Shawn let it slide. "What does Carlton do to make you feel special?"

Shawn grinned. "I like the way he growls when he says my name." He narrowed his eyes and did his best impression of Bill from True Blood. "Ssssssssssssssspencer."

"And does he always call you by your last name?"

"Pretty much exclusively. He's a little bit country like that. Lucky for him I'm so rock and roll." Shawn could still hear Lassie's words in his head. _Keep it together and stay on your toes._

Half-truths had always served Shawn better than outright lies, and so he decided to play straight with Joanna. He was still way on the wrong side of okay with her, especially after the whole "needle jab, crazy bitch" thing, but he was willing to sit here and tell her things that could almost be true. Because he had so much choice in the matter.

"Let's try this another way." Joanna frowned, but somehow that didn't change joyful exuberance. "How often does he let you know he loves you?"

Shawn thought of the shouted declaration in the therapist's office. It seemed so much longer ago. "Once."

She brightened again, and Shawn found he could barely take her saccharine charm. "Once a day?"

"No, once. Ever. He told me he's known for years, but he only told me for the first time a couple of days ago."

Joanna's brow furrowed, more from confusion, it seemed, than doubt. "He's only ever told you once?"

Shawn felt himself getting defensive, but he just wanted to wipe the concerned look off her bright, cheery face. "I mean, he lets me know all the time. Just, you know, in his own way. The way he yells, and his face gets all red. The way he tells me how annoying I am. It's like our own little code."

"Oh, honey." And Shawn definitely did _not_ care for the tome of her voice.

"Okay, so he's not the most affectionate. And he's not that vocal about his affection. And he…well, okay, so he's not the best at relationships, and he has control issues, and god forbid he should let anyone get close enough to care about him. Ugh! Sometimes I could just…."

"Kill him?" Joanna asked, eyes lighting up.

* * *

><p>As McNabb reentered the vehicle from his sweep of the exterior of the building, he looked up into the front seat at detective O'Hara and Gus. The tense silence he had left had become something more amiable, and he was glad. In truth, he'd only volunteered to check the building to get away from the awkwardness of their situation.<p>

Buzz sat for a moment, then decided to voice the uneasiness that had been growing within him for some time now. "You guys think maybe it's a little weird that they've been in there so long?"

Detective O'Hara was already turning in her seat to face Gus. "Gus, maybe you could try talking to the doctor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you work with doctors all the time, right? You know almost all of them, don't you?"

"I know those doctors from work." Gus said it as though that should mean something to them, but for the life of him, Buzz couldn't remember what Gus did. As far back as he could remember, Gus was always yelling about how he shouldn't be at a crime scene, he was supposed to be at work, but Buzz had always thought that meant he wanted to be back at the Psych office. By the time he had realized that wasn't the case, it would have been too awkward to ask; it had been, like, three years at that point.

"Right," detective O'Hara said in the leading fashion Buzz remembered from the interrogations he'd been allowed to observe.

"Because I'm in pharmaceutical sales," Gus said. He was becoming frustrated, McNabb could tell.

"So…have you ever worked with Dr. Forest?"

"Juliet, I'm a drug rep! She's a couple's counselor! No, I don't know her!" Buzz didn't blame Gus for the outburst. It sucked to feel so helpless, especially since he knew how close Gus and Shawn were.

But the detective was getting frustrated, too. It was her partner in there, after all. "Well we have to get somebody in there, and she already knows me!"

McNabb could hear the argument continuing as he stepped out of the vehicle and made his way toward the office's main door.

* * *

><p>So are the O'Tooles kind of starting to creep anybody else out? Tune in next time to find out what they're up to.<p> 


	9. Better Faster Angrier

A/N: I don't own the established characters. Steve Franks and the brilliant minds at USA do.

So, personal first. This is the furthest I've ever gotten into a story without having a definite end in mind. So…that's a thing. I had a burst of inspiration while writing this chapter, though, so I'm glad I waited as long as I did. I really think you're going to like where it ends up.

* * *

><p>Detective O'Hara and Gus were still arguing when McNabb rejoined them. "They aren't in there," he told them, shutting the door to the back seat of the car.<p>

"What?" O'Hara and Gus turned to the back of the car asked the question in unison, and any other time that might have been funny.

"I just went in and talked with Dr. Forest. She said her last patients left over an hour ago. They weren't inside the office; no one's come out the front, and their car's still here."

The color drained out of the detective's face, and Gus got a look on his face that told Buzz he may need a bucket soon.

The three of them were supposed to be backup. Their one job had been not to let Detective Lassiter and Shawn be taken. And now no one knew where they were. Yeah, Buzz was really starting to get a bad feeling about this.

The detective was the first to break the silence. "What do you mean, you talked with Forest?"

Buzz put his hand on the back of his neck, tilting his head down to look into the detective's eyes. "Well, I told her that Frannie and I were having some problems, and that a friend of mine had recommended her. We talked about scheduling, and she said that her last appointment on Wednesdays is at 3. And there was nobody in her waiting room."

Gus looked dubious. "But there's still a ton of cars in the lot."

Buzz nodded. "Yeah, there's a bunch of other offices in the building."

Detective O'Hara turned back to McNabb. "What else is in the building, McNabb?"

He tried to remember what the sign in the lobby had said. "Uh…there's an optometrist, a dentist, and another couples counselor, and then on the second floor there's an orthodontist, an insurance company has an office, and there's…there's a law firm with some offices up there. And down in the basement is some office space."

"Office space?" Detective O'Hara clearly wasn't satisfied with the vagueness of his answer.

"Yeah. The sign said J.T. Louis Distribution, but there were also a couple of empty spaces for other corporate name plates. I also found this." Buzz held the needle up, using a tissue to keep from contaminating the evidence.

O'Hara looked at McNabb, sighing slightly. She took the needle between her thumb and index finger and looked at Buzz over the tissue. "Next time, McNabb, lead with the evidence."

Gus's eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers. "I gotta make a call," Gus said, practically jumping out of the car. Juliet and McNabb watched as he quickly pecked a number into his phone, then paced the length of the car, his expression darkening.

At first, he was responding regularly to whoever was on the other end of the line, but as the conversation wore on, Gus grew silent. Without saying anything, Gus snapped his phone shut and climbed back into the car, staring with empty eyes out of the windshield. The conversation had lasted less than two minutes, but clearly Gus had what he had needed.

It was a long minute before anyone spoke. Gus turned to Juliet. "So…I was wrong."

The detective lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"

"Turns out, there was a reason for me to know Dr. Forest."

"What do you mean, Gus?" She asked the question slowly, almost as if she didn't want to hear the answer.

Gus took a long breath, blowing it out through his nose. "So, Dr. Forest. She takes on mainly court ordered therapy cases, couples with history of abuse, the kind of people who are dangerous. She recently started working with my company on a drug trial for what was supposed to be the best new thing in regular-dose sedatives."

"What do you mean, "supposed to be"?"

"It's a drug called feroinaphilinine, a low-dose sedative that Forest was using to treat some of her more violent patients. The idea was that it would help mitigate some of the emotional issues at the core of the violent tendencies."

The detective made an impatient hand gesture that Buzz recognized from every single time he'd tried to tell Detective Lassiter anything. Under any other circumstances, he might have smiled. "Gus, come on, get the part where this affects the case. Please."

Gus grimaced, almost like he didn't want to say what came next. As he listened, Buzz could understand that. "Well, during the trial, she found that after the initial effects of the sedative had worn off, the patients she had been using it on demonstrated…more extreme violence and anger issues than they ever had before."

"So…." Detective O'Hara's face looked grim, but Gus clearly hadn't finished.

"So she had to have a case replaced last month because it…went missing." Gus flinched, waiting for the backlash the news would receive.

The detective sighed, her face looking pained. "So we have violent criminals coming to this doctor, then a missing case of a drug that causes more violence, and then patients start turning up dead. And now Lassiter and Shawn are in there somewhere, probably being held against their will by whoever stole these drugs. And the best way to abduct them would have been with a sedative. A sedative like…."

"Like feroinaphilinine," Gus supplied.

Buzz decided to jump into the explanation. "But giving them…that would just make them angry and violent."

"Or _angrier_ and _more violent_, in some cases," Gus said, shooting the detective a look.

But Detective O'Hara was already grabbing her weapon and checking the clip. "McNabb, you're with me. Gus…." She turned with the intention of telling Gus to stay in the car, but the look he gave her clearly said that he would be following whether she like it or not. She gave him a serious look, one which brooked no argument. "Stay behind us and stay low." Slamming the clip back into place, O'Hara stepped out of the car, followed by the rest of her team.

Buzz hoped they hadn't waited too long. He hoped they weren't too late.

* * *

><p>Carlton Lassiter had spent a lot of time in his life being angry. Some might say too much time had been spent in anger, but Lassiter liked to think he found a good balance between the things which were annoying but could be ignored and the things which needed to be dealt with. He had spent more time mad than anything else, recently, but he could not remember the last time he'd been this angry, this ready to hit something, this willing to…. He tried not to finish the sentence.<p>

Lassiter had spent nearly an hour rehashing for Thomas the horrible things that Shawn had done to him. He told himself that it was looking at them all together that was making him see red. He told himself that he had never dealt with the anger, and that was why it was all coming together now. But, really, he didn't care why he was angry. And that was what had him worried.

"I could…I could just…augh!" Lassiter ran his hands through his hair as he shouted in aggravation. He was pacing in the small space of the cubicle, ranting to Thomas who, for his part, sat and listened with a look of only mild interest. "He does everything he can to piss me off, push me to the edge, and then he tells me he loves me? I can't…I just don't get him sometimes! Anytime! How are we supposed to have a relationship if I can't even tell…if I don't…. Augh! You know, this isn't my fault. It's him, with his mixed signals and his indiscriminate flirting and his general attitude of casual indifference. I don't know that I mean any more to him than the random bar floozies he's used to." Lassiter grinned as he said the word, remembering Shawn's reaction to it the last time. "And when he compares me to his father, it just…." He trailed off, swinging his gaze up to meet Thomas's. "I mean, what do you do with that? What am I supposed to say when he says the things I say and the way I act remind him of…his dad?" Lassiter shuddered.

Thomas looked up at him then, his face entirely too pleased. Lassiter probably would have said something about it had he been taking the time to notice. But he had left his back to Thomas, something he had initially been determined not to do. "I think you're ready," was all the man said.

* * *

><p>Shawn Spencer hadn't spent much time angry in his life. He felt he had a very "live and let live" attitude and, with some few exceptions (<em>Dad<em>), he really didn't have it in him to hold a grudge against the people in his life. Some people thought he didn't know how to be angry. He kind of wished all those people could see him now.

Furious. That was the word Shawn settled on. He was furious, and he didn't really know what to do with it. All he could think was that Lassie really wanted them to be together, had for years, and still he'd had to deal with the same old crap Lassie kept throwing his way. If the old bastard would just man up, they'd both get to be happy. But no, dusty old Lassie-ass had been sitting around for years, refusing to make a move. He could only imagine the rationalizations Lassie had used to sweep his feelings under the mental rug.

Shawn was frustrated and pissed and furious, and he didn't know why except that everything was just starting to come together for him. And Joanna kept looking at him like she felt sorry for him. He was starting to get fed up with the situation, and he honestly felt like he could have hit Lassiter, just right in the face. He had to try to keep himself from laughing as he thought about how that would play out for him.

"You know what?" Shawn asked, rounding on Joanna. "Yes. You're right, I feel like I could kill him, just kill him. He spends all his time going out of his way to make me feel like nothing I do is good enough, and I just. Can't. Take it! _Anymore!_" Shawn knew he was yelling, could hear himself doing that weird "each word is its own sentence" thing his dad always did when he got really angry, and he didn't even care that something he was doing was reminding him of his dad. Which was what really bothered him.

Thinking of his dad reminded him of Lassie, which was really something he would need to think about at some point. But now wasn't the time. All he could hear, the voice filling his head, Lassie's dark tone as he whispered in Shawn's ear. _Keep it together and stay on your toes_. Those had been Lassie's only directions. And Shawn wasn't doing either of those things. But no, Shawn wasn't a cop and he didn't take his orders from Lassie. He could be as untogether as he wanted, and at this point he thought he would start doing handstands just to spite the detective. "I don't even know if I love him more than I hate him right now." This last Shawn had spoken aloud, and it was then that he remembered he wasn't alone.

Joanna was smiling when Shawn turned to look back at her. "Oh, Shawn, that's why Thomas and I are here. We want to help you."

Shawn picked up on the sound a split second before Joanna did. Steps on stairs, coming this way. The cubicle Joanna had led him to must have been close to the stairwell which had brought them down here in the first place. Shawn hoped to his very core that Joanna wouldn't hear the sound, wouldn't know that their backup had finally, _finally_ arrived. This whole mess couldn't be over soon enough for Shawn.

But, much as he had hoped she'd miss it, the sound had gotten louder and Joanna turned her head toward it. And then she turned back with an expression that made Shawn's heart fall even further. Not only did she hear it, but she was happy about it. "It's time, Shawn," Joanna said through the largest smile Shawn had ever seen on a human face. "It's time!"

* * *

><p>Um…time for what? Is it really their rescue coming down those stairs? Tune in next time to find out!<p>

Mad Lassiter is nothing too new, but I kind of enjoyed putting together a Mad Shawn. Let me know what you thought, and more will be coming soon.


	10. All the Pieces of the Puzzle

A/N: You guys have gotten by now that I don't own these guys, right? Cool, because it's Steve Franks that own them, and, awesome as he seems, I'd really love not to get sued by him.

So, I'm sorry for the delay in update, but I've started work on a couple of other projects, and I have the attention span of a fruit fly. I'm working on that, though.

* * *

><p>The sounds of the steps had gotten louder as Joanna had led Shawn from the small room. <em>Definitely heels<em>, Shawn decided, nodding to himself. Juliet would be here to put a stop to the madness anytime now. Joanna was probably taking Shawn back to Lassie and Tom, probably trying to put together some form of trap, but Juliet would be smarter than that, and they'd all be back in the sun within the hour.

As Shawn smiled to himself, the sound on the stairs became more distinct. The closer Juliet got to the floor, the less echoed her steps became. As the sound took a definite shape, Shawn felt the smile slowly slide off his face. He'd heard Juliet's footsteps no less than a thousand times, and they were almost always the exact same: a sharp _click_ing sound followed immediately by a dull _clack_ as the rest of the shoe hit the floor. He'd heard it on tile, hardwood, stairs, carpet, and every time it was the same.

This sound, though, this was different, a sort of squishing _thud_, followed by a dull _thwack_. And they were the only ones. None of Buzz's surprisingly light thumps or even Gus's heavy clomping. Whoever was coming had come alone, a mistake Jules never would have made if she had any idea what she was walking into. And, of course, she wouldn't be wandering around down here _without_ knowing what she would be coming into.

And then there was the way the smile lit Joanna's face every time she looked back toward the origin of the sound. Even if they had been planning a trap for Juliet, no matter what it was they had planned, Shawn just couldn't see Joanna lighting up like that at the thought of murder, torture, and various other types of mayhem. Tommy Dead-Eyes, maybe, but not Joanna.

Shawn mentally slapped himself. Of course it wasn't Juliet. If it had been the detective, he never would have heard her coming. No one as experienced as Juliet with a partner as anal and demanding as Lassie would ever be so obvious on an approach into a situation like this.

Shawn didn't know what was going on in his head, but he knew something was wrong. He should have realized the second he heard the steps that it wasn't Jules coming to the rescue. Just like he should have realized so much earlier that Thomas and Joanna weren't nearly rational enough to pull off something on the scale of what he and Lassie had originally come here to investigate. And where had those damned drugs come from?

Shawn remembered the needle in Joanna's hand as she had kidnapped him. He had thought as he woke that he'd had the couple pegged. They had been trying so hard to emulate their dear Dr. Forest that when the couples they nabbed hadn't been cooperative, Thomas's violent tendencies had taken over and the couples had been killed. But that was making less and less sense given what he knew about them. Shawn was starting to feel his head clear, and with it came a realization that filled him with dread: Joanna and Thomas were pawns. And the mastermind had been coming down the stairs behind him.

* * *

><p>Thomas was smiling, and that sent a chill down Lassiter's spine. The last time he'd seen that smile, the world had turned sideways and he'd woken up in this damned basement. The man had just sent off a text message, from the way his thumbs had moved over his phone, and now he seemed to be waiting for something, sitting in his chair and staring at the opening to their small cubicle.<p>

Lassiter heard it first, the sound of Shawn struggling. There were whines and grunts peppered throughout with _that_ sound, the one Lassiter had never been able to put a name to, the one that was uniquely Shawn. It was half a moan, half a whimper, with traces of a sigh, and it sent Lassiter into a new kind of rage.

On pure instinct, Lassiter felt his hand grasping at his empty holster, then he rounded once more on Thomas. "What is she doing to him?" he asked in a dark tone. He could feel his face reddening and his muscles tightening. Only Spencer could do this to him. "Where is he?" Lassiter shouted, and, to his great aggravation, Thomas only laughed.

Thomas smiled the smile that Lassiter had come to associate with bad things. It seemed to be the only smile the man had. "He'll be here soon, Carlton; there's no reason to get upset." For whatever reason, saying this caused Thomas to laugh harder.

Lassiter couldn't stop himself, and that was cause for alarm. But the worry would have to wait. For the moment, Lassiter was focused on the fist he was sending into Thomas's stomach, causing the man to reel back and double over. He had wanted to do that since waking up down here, and it had been satisfying as hell, but before he could get another shot in, Lassiter was being hit over the head with the butt of his own gun with a force which, had he been the one to use it, would have been labeled excessive. He growled, but fell to one knee, clasping the spot on his head which had split, allowing blood to fall freely into his eyes.

Lassiter couldn't see, but he could still hear, something Spencer had taught him long ago to use to his advantage. He heard footsteps, two sets, coming into the room. He heard one start to run toward him, and that must have been Spencer. He suspicions were confirmed as he heard the younger man's voice, too loud in the small space.

"Lassie!" Shawn called as he fell to the ground next to the detective, putting an arm around his shoulders.

But that wasn't all Lassiter heard. Taking the second set of footsteps as Joanna, he had to wonder who the third set belonged to. They were farther off, and Lassiter could hear the familiar _click_-_clack_ of women's heels. They were coming closer, swift and unhesitating. They couldn't belong to O'Hara; he knew he'd trained her better than that.

Putting his hand on Shawn's back, Lassiter stood, trying to clear the blood from his eyes. He had little success until Shawn pulled his sleeve up to Lassiter's eyes and swiped at them with the soft fabric. As the world once again began to coalesce around him, Lassiter turned. He could see Thomas, standing still so near with that god-awful grin, and Joanna, with a freakishly large smile to match. And as Lassiter turned to the opening that would have served as a door to the small office space, he saw the latest addition to their disturbed little party, and he swore.

* * *

><p>"Dammit." Shawn heard the curse muttered lightly under Lassiter's breath even as he thought it himself. He <em>really<em> should have seen this coming. He tried not to let the surprise show on his face, but he knew it was too late for that. For all the danger they were in, for all that the situation had long ago spiraled out of his control, all Shawn could think was that he needed a cover.

"Geez, doc, what was in that shot? It's completely messing with my aura! I can barely even hear the spirits."

Dr. Regina Forest stood in the door with a large knife and a larger smile. She put a hand against one hip, and in that hand Shawn saw a small gun. "Mr. Spencer, I believe we can go ahead and drop the act now, don't you?"

With Lassiter held under his left arm, he turned to his right and pretended to argue for a moment. "Hang on, hang on, I'm trying to talk to the doc. Okay, fine, you don't have to yell." Finally, he turned again to see the doctor standing before him. "The spirits want me to let you know that using your most deranged patients to abduct and murder other couples is pretty screwed up." She raised her eyebrows, and Shawn put his hands up in defense. "Hey, hey, their words, not mine."

Lassiter groaned. "Maybe now isn't the best time, Spencer," he whispered in Shawn's ear, but Shawn's focus was on the doctor.

He was afraid for a moment that she would have Thomas hit him, or, worse, Lassie, but in the end she just smiled. "Tell you spirits that it's not anything so simple as that."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "They're everywhere, duh. _They_ can hear _you_ just fine."

Forest shook her head, her amusement plain on her face, and if Shawn had been serious, he might have been annoyed. "In answer to your question, though, Mr. Spencer, the syringes contained a wonderful new miracle drug called feroinaphilinine. Take a little resentment, add in some feroinaphilinine, stir, and, _voila_! You have yourself one fantastic recipe for blind, murderous rage! Imagine the possibilities, gentlemen," Forest said, beginning to walk back and forth along the width of the cubicle.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't really speak maniac. Lassie, could you translate?"

Lassiter glanced up at the doctor, studying her. "Well, Spencer, just a guess here, but I'd say she's going into business with the drug cartels. They wouldn't need hired guns if they could just snatch someone close to their target and drug them into doing the dirty work for them. Nothing could be traced back to them, and the work would be done with no risk to their own soldiers."

Forest smiled approvingly. "Not a bad guess, Detective, or a bad idea for later, but I had my eye on something a little…higher priority. Imagine if one day the president's son were found in his father's room. Imagine that the president had been shot in the night by his son, who then turned to suicide. There would be no reason to see it as a political assassination, and no trail back to anyone who may have meant the man harm."

Shawn watched Lassiter's face blanch out of the corner of his eye. Okay, so maybe he didn't follow "bad guy" logic too well sometimes, but this one sounded bad. "So why the couple killings?" Shawn asked, trying to find the connection.

"Call them drug trials," the doctor said off-handedly. "Although, since almost all of my patients are reporting for court-mandated therapy, and almost all of them have histories of violence anyway, they didn't really prove what I had set out to." She seemed disappointed more than remorseful, but her eyes shone as they fell once more on the two men in the center of the room. "But that was why you two were such a great find."

Thomas and Joanna nodded around them. Shawn was having trouble putting two and two together through the haze of the drugs that still lingered around his mind, but Lassie seemed to be recovering more swiftly. Shawn turned a questioning glance on the detective, and he filled in the blanks. "We don't have the violent history the others did. She's trying to prove that she can turn anyone into a murderer."

Suddenly his talk with Joanna made more sense. Yes, it was still the creepiest conversation he'd ever had, but at least now he could see the purpose behind it. Shawn wondered how Lassie's time with Thomas had passed.

"A detective for the police force and his psychic companion, two men who love each other so deeply, with no problems but for some mild annoyances, turned to murder. You two will be…" Forest paused, seeming to look for the right words. "My masterpiece," she finally settled on, drawing the words out dramatically. "Now come along."

* * *

><p>Lassiter and Spencer were once more wrenched apart. Lassiter didn't struggle until he saw Shawn clenched in Joanna's grasp, a look of pain flashing across his face. But Thomas wouldn't let him wriggle free, his hands digging painfully into Lassiter's biceps.<p>

They were being moved once again through the basement, back, it seemed, to the wider space in which they had initially awoke. As they entered the comparably cavernous space, Shawn and Lassiter were thrown down near one another.

Lassiter took the opportunity to hiss in the younger man's ear, "Oh, Spencer, if we survive this, I swear, I'm going to kill you. And Guster. And O'Hara, and anybody else I come across who had anything to do with this sounding like it could ever have been a good idea."

"Don't forget the Chief," Shawn pointed out.

Lassiter couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Thank you, Spencer, I won't."

The more he thought about how this had happened, the angrier Lassiter became. O'Hara had interviewed the doctor and eliminated her as a suspect. The chief had talked him into the operation in the first place. Sure, it had been Spencer's idea, or the spirits' or whoever's, but without her approval it could have died quietly. Now, here he sat, waiting to be killed because everyone else had let him down. And really, he was just as bad for not sticking by the opinion that this had been a bad plan all along. The idea of some time with Spencer had been too much to pass up, and he was going to die for it. Lassiter had let this happen, and he had only himself and everyone he trusted to blame.

Thomas was stepping toward him. He felt the other man grab his shoulders and pull him entirely too close, and it was too much like Spencer invading his space on a daily basis. Then Thomas was speaking, blowing his hot air into Lassiter's face. "He drugged you and kidnapped you. He brought felons to your home. He sabotages the good work you do, he breaks into your home, and he thinks of you as his father." As Thomas completed the list, he pressed a familiar gun into Lassiter's hand.

* * *

><p>Joanna was stepping toward Shawn, but all he could see were Thomas's hands on Lassie's arms. He was getting angry again. No one got away with touching Lassie, no one. Then Joanna was pulling him by his sleeve. "Look at him," she whispered into Shawn's ear. "He's cold and mean and cruel. He never tells you he loves you, he treats you like dirt. He's distant and unfeeling and he doesn't care about you. You'd be better off without him."<p>

Shawn felt the weight of the knife being pressed into his hand, and all he could see was Lassie, scowling at him from across a desk, shouting at him in the station, threatening him, shoving him, hitting his head against a squad car, and, he had to admit, he was getting angry.

He tried to remember the Lassie he'd seen in the office upstairs, the sweet, vulnerable, honest Lassie that he had loved so much. The Lassie who had told him he loved him, too. But then Shawn saw the detective standing in front of him, holding his gun. _Oh, crap, he's going to kill me. I can't let him do this. I have to stop him._ The knife was heavy in his tight grip, and it was the only way he could think of to stop what he knew was coming. _Maybe…maybe I can knick him, or just hit his hand so he'll drop the gun. Maybe, if he'll listen…._

The gunshot was loud in the small space.

* * *

><p>More to come, hopefully sooner than this one did. One, maybe two chapters left until the end.<p> 


	11. To Where the Sun Shines

A/N: I love this story, and I love these guys, but the difference is that I don't own the characters. Gus, McNabb, O'Hara, Shawn and Lassiepants belong to Steve Franks and the USA network. Sad face.

* * *

><p>The echo of the gun shot was absorbed by the foam of the cubicle surrounding them, and he watched the results of his actions play out through the sight of his gun. Dropping it would have meant facing the reality of what he'd done, and he wasn't ready for that just yet.<p>

The gun was heavy in his hand, and he almost dropped it as he watched the scene unfold. It was the look that stuck with him, the look of fear and shock and…pain as the shot hit home. _What have I done? What was I…I don't know what…Oh, no. Oh, no no no, …._ The body fell to the floor like so much dead meat, and Buzz McNabb stepped further into the room, trying to assess the situation.

The woman had had a gun, that was the only thing he had seen as he stepped in and tried to get a handle on the situation. His training had taken over, and he had shot more on instinct than reason. It wasn't until after he had fired that McNabb recognized Dr. Forest from her office upstairs. She was probably down here for the same reason he was, trying to save Shawn and the detective. He hadn't even announced himself. He was in deep for this one.

Looking around, he saw the objects of his search, Shawn and Detective Lassiter, facing each other with looks of wonder on their faces. Clearly they realized what Buzz had done. He was waiting for the detective to explode at him when he heard the call of "Excellent shot, McNabb."

Buzz didn't even have the situational awareness to question the knife in Shawn's hand or the devastation on the faces of the other two people in the room. He dropped the gun and watched as Detective O'Hara entered behind him.

* * *

><p>Lassiter had heard the shot, and all he could think was that he didn't remember pulling the trigger. He let the gun fall to his side and waited for Shawn to drop. But Spencer's face, through his tightly squeezed eyes, was a mask of confusion. <em>Maybe the gun jammed? No, that sound…it was definitely a gunshot….<em>

That was when Lassiter saw Forest's face as she spun in place toward him, dropping to her knees and falling forward. She was still holding the gun she had brought, and it fell to the floor as she hit the ground, bouncing slightly. There was a jagged, bleeding hole in her shoulder. Lassiter spun to face the opposite side of the cubicle to see Buzz McNabb standing, mouth agape, staring at the doctor. "Excellent shot, McNabb!"

Joanna and Thomas, it seemed, didn't think so. Joanna fell to her knees, screaming and Lassiter could see the tears from here. But Joanna wasn't what he should have been worrying about.

Thomas was running at him from behind, he could see the movement from the corner of his eye. But he couldn't move in time. He could feel Thomas closing in on him, and he couldn't get the weapon in his hand around in time. Thomas's hands were closing around the butt of the gun, were starting to pull, to turn it back on Lassiter. Lassiter watched Thomas's finger approaching the trigger.

Another shot rang out as Thomas's body connected with his, and Thomas went limp, hands dropping, body sliding down Lassiter's back. Stepping forward as he turned, Lassiter looked down at Thomas and the bleeding mess that had once been his leg. Thomas was staring up at him, his mouth moving wordlessly. It was alright; the rage in his eyes spoke volumes.

Looking back at the doorway, Lassiter saw O'Hara turning her gun from Thomas to Joanna as Guster rounded the corner. McNabb continued to stare blankly at the spot where the doctor had been. Guster covered his mouth, let out a high-pitched whine, and ran back around the corner.

Holding the gun toward Thomas, Lassiter backed up until he was an arm's length from Shawn, who was still holding the knife tight in his hand. "It's over Spencer," Lassiter told him over his shoulder, refusing to take his eyes of Thomas's still unmoving body. "Put the knife down." His tone was softer than he had intended. It was the tone of a victim, not a cop.

After a moment, Lassiter heard the muffled clatter as the knife collided with the carpet just before the warm, strong arms snaked around his waist and pulled him to the floor. Thomas wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Lassiter let his weapon fall to the floor, putting a hand on the arm Spencer had around him. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Spencer's body assure him that this was real, that they were alive, that everything was alright. "I wasn't going to," Spencer whispered in his ear. "But I was scared."

"Me too," Lassiter whispered. Raising his voice, he called over to the officer still standing silently in the doorway. "McNabb, make sure you read Dr. Forest her rights when she wakes up. They're all in on it; they're all under arrest. Hop to it!" Lassiter shouted when McNabb continued to stand in the doorway. The shout seemed to knock him out of whatever trance he had been in, and he went to check the doctor's pulse.

Lassiter leaned back into Shawn's hold, allowing his eyes to drift closed once more, not caring that his team was standing all around him. The rage had passed, and with it the adrenaline, leaving Lassiter tired and cold, and Spencer was so warm. If anyone asked later, he would blame it on the drugs. But for the moment, as Lassiter shrugged deeper into the hold and felt Spencer's head on his shoulder, he was content that Shawn's arms were all he needed.

They sat there, in the middle of the cubicle, while O'Hara and McNabb arrested the lunatics who had held them there. They sat there while the rights were read and the arrests were called in and the perps were walked to the squad cars arriving upstairs. They sat there while Guster talked at Shawn about drugs and tried to wrap up the case. They sat there until Lassiter was ready to stand. And then they walked out to his car, ready to face life again.

* * *

><p>Shawn had missed the sun, but this was ridiculous.<p>

Apparently, at some point during their heroic rescue, one of them must have mentioned something about being drugged, or maybe Gus had figured it out. Shawn hadn't really been listening while Gus was telling them about it in the basement. O'Hara had called for an ambulance, and both men were being thoroughly checked out. Shawn sat with a blanket draped over his shoulders in the 85 degree Santa Barbara spring, trying not to remove the covering. The last time he had tried, the scary, line-backery EMT had given him an entirely too threatening lecture on the risks of shock and told him not to take it off again. Shawn was legitimately afraid of being tackled if he tried.

Lassie was standing near the curb in front of the building, screaming at the tall, twiggy EMT about strange needles and blood born diseases. His face was a shade of red the paramedics seemed to be concerned about, but for everyone else around them, it was just another day with Lassie. Everyone's lack of reaction to Lassie's facial coloring seemed to confuse the EMTs more than anything, but they kept trying to get the man to sit down. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

The rear of the ambulance dipped as Gus sat next to him on the back bumper. They sat in silence for a moment, both looking forward at nothing in particular. Without turning his head, Gus started to speak. "You ever going to tell me what happened down there?"

Shawn didn't look at his friend. "Cliff notes: crazy couple, angry words, crazy doctor, some yelling, I got a knife, then you guys got there."

Gus, being generally used to Shawn and his avoidance maneuvers, didn't push for details. And that was why Shawn loved him. "You okay?"

Shawn thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

Gus looked over at the curb where Lassie was now waving his arms in the air while he yelled at an increasingly distraught paramedic. "You and Lassie…?" he trailed off, not wanting to finish the question.

For the first time since stepping out of the building, Shawn smiled. "Yeah, Gus, we're solid." Shawn glanced over at his friend. "Laser tag later?"

Gus glared over at Shawn.

And he crumbled like old cheese. "Yeah, yeah, after the hospital or wherever," Shawn said, rolling his eyes.

"You know that's right," Gus said, knocking his knuckles against Shawn's outstretched fist.

Shawn knocked his hand against the back door of the ambulance. "You crazies okay in there?" he called. He could see Joanna glaring at him from the back of one of the squad cars. Dr. Forest muttered something indistinct from her place cuffed to the inside of the ambulance, and Thomas shouted something that drew the attention of the surrounding officers. "Hey," Shawn yelled, "there's no call for such language, _Thomas_." As Thomas continued to threaten and swear, Shawn threw his head back and laughed manically until Gus gave him a concerned look. Then he laughed again.

* * *

><p>Lassiter could hear Spencer taunting their prisoners from the curb, and he didn't move a single muscle to stop him. After everything they had been through, Thomas could put up with a little turnabout. Lassiter realized he was smiling as he looked over at the paramedic, who was once again giving him a strange look.<p>

Lassiter had spent the last hour and a half trying to convince the absurdly young EMT that, other than a stick from a needle he was almost sure hadn't been properly sterilized and the concussion that had already been stitched closed, he was completely fine and would _not_ be poked and prodded like a damned lab animal. Personally, he thought he had shown great restraint by not decking the kid when he suggested that Lassiter might need to remove his shirt for a physical exam.

Lassiter waited until the man had his back turned, then made for the ambulance. Spencer and Guster were leaning against the back door, having one of their inane conversations. As he got closer, he could hear something something "Thundercats" from Guster, with a responding something "Smurfs, dude" from Spencer.

Lassiter grabbed Spencer by the arm, throwing the blanket he'd been covered with back to Guster. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Lassadena?"

Lassiter tried to scowl down at Spencer, but found himself smiling. It was, perhaps, a testament to his condition and maybe, just maybe, he should have stayed to get himself checked out after all. "I'm taking you to the station to get your official statement. I want this over with as soon as possible."

Spencer seemed to deflate a little. "Yeah, I guess you want to put this case behind you, huh?"

Lassiter considered Spencer's words and, more importantly, his tone. "There are parts of this case I'd like to forget," he admitted, watching as Spencer sank further into himself. "But it wasn't all bad."

Shawn beamed up at him. "For real, Carly?"

Lassiter glared down at him, sighing. "Don't make me regret that, Spencer." He followed the younger man around the curve of his car to the far side.

Shawn turned, looking surprised that Lassiter was behind him. "Uhm…Lassie, you need to get in on the _other_ side. Dude, how hard did that guy hit you?" For all that his tone implied carelessness, Spencer's eyes conveyed a real concern that caught Lassiter less off guard than he felt it should have.

Lassiter shrugged. "Hard enough that the paramedics were probably right and I should probably head to the hospital later. Hard enough that I maybe shouldn't be driving, but I'm still willing to risk it. And hard enough that, even though half the department is on the other side of the car, I'm going to do this." He grabbed Spencer by the collar of the shirt and pressed his lips over the younger man's in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste of Shawn was all pineapple and vanilla, with just a touch of blood (but that may or may not have been from Lassiter's own mouth). As Lassiter felt Shawn's hand start to wander over his body, he pulled back. "But not hard enough that I'm ready for that." Shawn's face fell just a little. "At least not in public." Lassiter made his way back to the driver's seat of his car, pretending he didn't see the look of pure glee plastered across Shawn's face.

* * *

><p>Major thanks to everybody who's been reviewing. There's one more chapter in it, and I thank you for coming along. It's a fun time.<p> 


	12. A Rest Well Earned

A/N: I could tell you I own all the characters, but I'd be lying. Steve Franks and the USA network own everybody in the story except for Thomas, Joanna, and Regina (and those guys are all nutters and not even in this chapter).

Anybody ever wonder if we'll ever see a US of A network? Yeah, I think it's dumb, too.

* * *

><p>The station's interior was quiet as Lassiter and Spencer entered. It seemed Lassiter hadn't been exaggerating by quite as much as he might have thought when he said half the force had shown up on the scene at the psychiatrist's office. Most of the desks had been abandoned, seemingly in the middle of their tasks. Paperwork sat on most desks, half-filled out.<p>

Under normal circumstances, Lassiter might have been annoyed that the officers had left their work half finished, but, considering the circumstances, he was willing to let the slight go unmentioned. After all, they'd done it for him. Lassiter felt himself smiling again, and he could see Shawn grinning at him from the corner of his eye.

It was something else, though. It wasn't just that the station was nearly empty; Lassiter had never seen the building so still. Some few officers had stayed behind, but it was still so quiet. But quiet was good, quiet meant they could get in and get out without—

"Detective." Lassiter sighed, turning toward Chief Vick, who stood in the doorway to her office. She had a quizzical eyebrow raised, and her hands were resting on her hips. "Mr. Spencer. What are you two doing here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

Lassiter hedged, trying to play off the implication without actually lying. "There were paramedics on the scene," he told her, pushing back his hair to show her the dark, jagged stitches in his forehead. She whistled low.

Then Spencer took over, and any hope Lassiter had had of getting through the conversation without lying went straight out the nearest window. "Yeah, the EMTs checked us both out. They cleared us and everything." He was smiling like he expected the comment to pass in the flow of the conversation, but after he stopped speaking, a silence stretched between the three of them.

Then the chief smiled, turning to Spencer. "Is that so, Mr. Spencer? Because I just got off the phone with Detective O'Hara, who says you two snuck off when no one was looking, which has the EMTs quite upset. She actually told me, Detective, that the paramedics said that you," she said, pointing to Lassiter, "had a very serious concussion and shouldn't be driving under _any_ circumstances, and that you, Mr. Spencer," she said, turning to point at Spencer with the oddly unnerving smile still firmly in place, "were at great risk of going into shock." And just like that, the smile was gone. The familiar glare had settled in to place, and her voice had taken on that hard-edged tone that Lassiter had come to recognize as her "not today" voice. "Lassiter, I shouldn't have to tell you that you aren't supposed to be here. You should be at the hospital, getting that head wound checked out. And you, Mr. Spencer—."

"Actually, Chief," Lassiter cut in, hoping to avoid the threats of suspension if he didn't do as he was told, "I just came in to get Spencer's official statement filed so I could take tomorrow to…recuperate."

That seemed to stop the chief dead in her tracks. The angry glare of a teacher handling two impetuous students was replaced by a mask of deep, if pleasant, surprise. "You-you _want_ to take a day off, Detective?"

Lassiter nodded, adding a deferential, "With your approval, of course, Chief."

The chief looked him over suspiciously. Her eyes said 'Who the hell are you and what have you done with Carlton Lassiter?', but her mouth said only, "Of course, Detective. We can do your debriefing when you get back. You've got quite a bit of time off on the books, and god knows you've earned it." She shot Spencer a look. "Enjoy it." She turned to leave, but thought better of it. "One condition, Carlton," she said, holding up a finger.

Lassiter quirked an eyebrow at her use of his first name. "Yes, Chief?"

And just like that, Vick was smiling again. "When you two are finished here, Spencer drives you to the hospital. The last thing I need is a head detective with brain damage."

Lassiter couldn't help grinning at that, and he was beginning to wonder if he _should_ go and get himself checked out. He nodded sharply, trying to cover the odd behavior, but that only caused a wave of sharp pain to spread through his skull. "Of course, Chief," he said, trying not to grunt the words.

Vick turned back to her office, laughing quietly, and Lassiter could only speculate as to why. But something in the look she had given Spencer before she left told him he already knew. There would be questions when he returned to work, he was sure of it.

But, for now, Lassiter turned to Shawn, determined to file the paperwork he had come here for. He found the younger man grinning over at him. "Don't worry, she's cool with it." And Lassiter couldn't bring himself to question the assessment.

* * *

><p>After making Shawn fill out paperwork, most of which merely said "and then some bad stuff happened", Lassie had grabbed his keys and made his way back out the front door to his car.<p>

"No," Shawn pronounced as Lassie went to unlock the car door.

Lassie turned one of his patented indulgent looks over to Shawn, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Shawn took quite a bit of pleasure from the grin on Lassie's face as he asked, "No, what, exactly?"

"_No_, there's no way in hell I'm letting you drive again," Shawn informed him matter-of-factly. He crossed his own arms and tried to appear as determined as Lassie always did.

The detective simply raised an eyebrow. "You're not driving my car, Spencer."

Shawn laughed. "Let's put aside your promise to the chief for a second, Lassie. Do you remember our ride over here?"

Lassie frowned. "There was nothing wrong with the trip over, Spencer."

Shawn cocked his head, grinning. "Either that ice cream guy was on your crap list, or you were swerving out of control. Your eyes were all glazed, we were doing, like, sixty through some neighborhood, and, from the look on your face, you don't remember any of it, which is even worse. Give me your keys." He caught the keys without taking his eyes off the tall detective.

Shawn almost hadn't expected Lassie to fold. The keys in his hand meant as much to him as the kiss in the parking lot; Lassie was starting to open up to him, to trust him. _Awesome_.

Shawn grinned at the detective over the hood of his car. "You just sit back and relax, and we'll be there before you know it, Lassie." The older man looked unhappy, but he climbed into the passenger seat all the same, not saying a single word.

Shawn couldn't help laughing as he clambered into the car. He took Lassie's hand in his as he looked over at the other man. "Love you, Lassie pants." And though the detective still said nothing, the smile was enough.

* * *

><p>Lassiter closed his eyes for a moment as the engine roared to life, his hand still enclosed in Spencer's. When he opened them again, he was staring at the front of his house. <em>Wow. I really<em> shouldn't _be driving_. He unfastened his seatbelt and, when he went to open his door, found himself face to face with Spencer. He let the younger man take his arm and lead him into the house without even debating the necessity. It was nice, having someone want to care for him.

Lassiter was already settling into his favorite part of the couch when he realized that his home hadn't been their intended destination. "What happened to the hospital?" he asked, staring up at Spencer.

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Lassie, you have a concussion. They're going to charge you a bunch of money to tell you to rest and have somebody watch you to make sure you wake up in the morning. I can do those things here for free." Spencer walked around the coffee table where Lassiter had propped his feet, settling in to the space next to him on the couch.

Lassiter thought about what Spencer's assertion implied. _He wants to stay with me. He wants to spend the night. He wants to know that I'm okay._ Grinning, he still felt he should voice his concern. "What about the chief? We promised her we'd go to the hospital after we got that paperwork filed."

"Well," Spencer said, scrunching his face up in thought, "Yeah, I never agreed to that, so I'm not lying, and you promised you wouldn't drive, so there's really nothing for you to do about it, so you're not at fault. And, besides, as long as you show up on Friday with no major dings or dents in that big ol' brain of yours, she won't know the difference. This way, pretty much everybody wins. Well, except for Gus."

Lassiter could feel his face contort in confusion. When had Guster even entered the equation? "What about him?"

Spencer shrugged, looking for all the world like the answer should be obvious. "We were supposed to go to laser tag after the hospital."

Lassiter shrugged in return. "You can make it up to him on Friday," he told the psychic, his tone nonchalant.

Spencer quirked a brow, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "Friday, huh? Not tomorrow?"

Lassiter stretched, letting his arms fall to either side of him across the back of the couch. And if one just happened to settle around Shawn's shoulders, well, so much the better. "I've got a whole day off tomorrow and nothing to do but stew over this case. I was hoping you could find a way to…distract me." Lassiter grinned over at Spencer as the younger man's eyes lit up.

"Hmmmm…." Spencer squinted, making a show of trying to think. "Well, COPS would just remind you of work, so that's out. We could see a movie, but that won't open until one. I'd hate for you to have to sit through a Care Bears marathon, and, besides, you'd ruin it with all your gloomy brooding." Spencer shrugged. "I'm sure I can think of something," he whispered, leaning in and taking Lassiter's lips in a deep kiss.

Lassiter enjoyed the kiss, leaning back to let Shawn stretch out on top of him. After a moment, the two were sprawled out on the couch. Carlton let the moment extend, thinking about all he'd gone through to get here, all he'd seen and done and said. And all the things he wouldn't change for the world.

As Shawn's hands found their way to his hips, as he felt his own travel under the younger man's shirt and up his back, all he could think was that this was right. This was what he had been searching for since…since his world had been shot all to hell. Since Victoria. Since before Victoria. Since his mother had read him stories as a child about the prince who always rode off into the sunset with someone he loved.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, the soft light streaming in through the living room windows. The orange and gold made Spencer glow, and Lassiter pulled back from the kiss a moment to enjoy the effect. Shawn grinned down at him, and Lassiter realized that, at some point, the younger man had unbuttoned his shirt without his knowledge. Not one to be outdone, Lassiter ripped the T-shirt off over Shawn's head.

Carlton kissed Shawn again, letting his tongue wander the warm, wet expanse of the younger man's mouth. As he pulled back once more, he whispered the only word that had been on his mind since the arm of the couch had begun digging into his neck. "Bedroom." He kissed Shawn again, and felt the other man grin into it.

"Race you," Shawn said, jumping off the couch and running up the stairs.

Carlton handled the stairs with something less than his usual aplomb, and as he entered his room, he almost tripped over the pair of jeans that had been left in the doorway. He looked up to see Shawn lying in his bed, staring at him eagerly.

Suddenly, Carlton began to feel the tugging of doubt. He wasn't sure if he could make Shawn understand, but he wanted more than anything to try. "If we do this now…it'll be…."

"Hot?" Shawn guessed. "Amazing? A dream come true? The perfect way to forget all the crappy stuff about this day?"

Carlton could feel a pressure in his chest. He didn't want to disappoint Shawn, but he wanted it to be real. "It'll be because of what happened. It'll be the adrenaline and the drugs and the thrill of being alive and free and…I don't want our first time to be because we survived together. I want it to be because I love you."

Carlton was afraid, so afraid that Shawn would gather himself up and leave, but instead the young man smiled. "Oh, Lassie, no. You thought? Carly," and there it was again, that look, that "you're an idiot, but I love you look" that he had seen a hundred thousand times without recognizing it for what it meant. Until now, Carlton had just thought of it as a Spencer look, but now it was one more of so many that had a name. "You have a concussion. Neither of us is in any shape to make it what it should be. Tonight, I just want to be sure you're all right. In a few days, when we're both back on our feet, there will be time for that. We have all the time in the world; I already told you, I'm not going anywhere."

Shawn's smile was sweet and innocent, but still, something didn't quite add up. Carlton looked down at his feet, prodding the pair of jeans with his toe, then looking back up at Shawn with an eyebrow raised questioningly.

Shawn's grin widened. "Oh, that. Pants suck, Lassie. Fact of the universe."

Carlton climbed into his bed and felt Shawn's arm snake protectively around his waist as he laid his head against the pillow. His eyes began to shut of their own accord almost immediately, and he decided that Shawn had been right about two things: one, they needed sleep now more than anything, and there would be time for everything else later; and two, pants did totally and completely suck.

* * *

><p>So there you have it. I'm really proud of how well this story turned out, and I want to thank everybody for sticking with it, especially NekodraK., MoonWiccan6, Elske, Shassiefan, dreamerswaking, Jess, aki, izzy, psychlover23, theflamefangirl, picabone99, Lilbakasaru, torchil, and AkaiKitsuneKegawa. You guys are great, and every review pushed me to create the best story I could. Thanks to everyone who read, and, if you enjoyed it, keep an eye out for my next project: "Operation: Romantically Challenged".<p> 


End file.
